Adrift
by maroucia
Summary: On a mission to escort Sansa back to Winterfell, the Hound loses his control with her in a hot spring. Non-con Sansan: read at your own risk. Underage.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi everyone! As said in the summary, this is a real non-con sansan story, written for people who have an interest for that kind of very unhealthy dynamic in their fictions. If you know for a fact that it's not your thing, I strongly suggest you don't give it a try because there's no doubting you'll hate it. If you read it anyway, please don't kink shame me. My warnings are clear enough so nobody should get offended that this story is made public._

_This fic would never have reached its full potential without Kimberlite8 who has not only betaed it but given me a lot of great advices and even written a few excellent lines which I gratefully added to the fic. Kim, I want to thank you for pushing me to make this story what it was meant to be! :D_

_And so that you all know, this takes place in a parallel world where there've been no BWB battle, bedroom scene and the like._

* * *

_"But one day I'll have a song from you, whether you will it or no."_

_Sandor Clegane,_  
_Chapter 18, A Clash of Kings_

* * *

The weather was surprisingly warm and sunny for the end of autumn but the hot spring they were in was even warmer than the air around them. Steam floated over the surface, lending a mystical air to the scene that unfolded before Sandor: the little bird, innocently enjoying the water, unaware of his hungry eyes on her. Modesty and education should have inhibited a highborn maiden such as herself from bathing by a strange man's side, yet the girl was far too obedient and trusting for her own good. That and far too beautiful too.

After a week or so of only coming across dilapidated and burned down villages and sleeping in the open every night, finding a hot spring hidden at the foot of a large rock formation had been too bloody good to be true. Both of them had had enough of cleaning up with a rag under their clothes, bowed over the ice-cold water of a creek or river. Not making the most of the occasion would have been beyond stupid of them and so they had not wasted an instant to set up camp nearby. Nevertheless Sandor's insistence that they bathe at the same time had no good basis: these parts were still empty of people despite the recent peace and there had been no reason to believe that this area would be any different.

"Couldn't you stay a few steps away, perhaps behind one of the trees just there?" the little bird had suggested timidly when he first told her they wouldn't take turns. "You'll hear me if I am attacked."

"A good warrior could catch you silently and I won't be able to deliver you to your kingly brother and keep Joffrey's side of the treaty if some sellsword makes off with you, would I?" Sandor had responded. That had been horseshit of course. Moving in the woods without stepping on a dry twig was hard enough already but snatching someone from a body of water without any sound was damned near impossible. There would have been not an ounce of risk in permitting her the privacy she had asked for.

The thing was, the girl's safety was not foremost on Sandor's mind. He had spoken on impulse, seeing his chance of getting her down to her smallclothes and grasping it without thinking it over. For so long, he had lusted after her and tried to picture how she'd look stripped of all her fineries and while she wouldn't do it for the purpose he'd have wished, he was not about to waste such a good excuse to get her to undress. It was unquestionably pathetic for a man of his age to manipulate a girl so young and clueless for such a base motive and yet, the prospect of getting to behold her half-naked had been too enticing to resist. Only once the little bird had started to disrobe had the awareness of how reckless he was being finally dawned on him. She was already tempting enough when wrapped in all her layers, to see her take them off…

Sandor's qualms had not weigh much next to his curiosity and thirst and thus he uttered not a word to stop her as she unlaced and removed her dress. Enthralled, he watched as she walked to the steep banks of the spring - her luscious little body only covered by a thin white shift - and jumped into the steaming water with a cry of delight.

While she had tensed a little when he first entered the pool, the girl was now apparently not much bothered by his presence. She did keep her back to him to preserve a semblance of propriety but that was about it. Sandor was standing at about three or four steps from her, the warm water of the spring only reaching him mid-thigh as he pretended to clean himself up. Bent over, he threw the water over his head, bare chest and back, all the while never taking his eyes from the little bird more than a few seconds at a time.

"Mmm… this is so good!" she murmured happily after having crouched and briefly immersed herself completely under the surface.

"It is," Sandor replied flatly, wishing she'd have said the words in another context.

The girl's long red hair was fully soaked and plastered to her head, going down her shoulders and back in a glimmering, dripping cascade that made her look like an apparition from the Seven Heavens. Every now and then, she would put herself at an angle that offered Sandor a glimpse of her profile and to see the peaceful expression of her face and how the fabric of her shift clung so perfectly to her curves was starting to heat his blood.

_Wasn't that what you wanted?_ he wondered, slightly annoyed at himself, while feeling his cock hardening. Even from where he was, Sandor could smell her sweet scent, the steam that filled the air somehow helping in spreading it until it totally enveloped him. The effect reminded him of how he'd always imagined she'd rule his senses as he dominated her body if she was ever to inexplicably find her way to his pallet. Although he knew none of it was true, the illusion of intimacy the moment conveyed was so deceiving that a man couldn't stop his body from getting primed for more. He could sense himself get excited and impatient in the very specific fashion he always did when he was about to rut even while his mind admitted that this was all a fantasy.

Bending over, the girl was splashing water over her head and rinsing her hair, the position attracting attention to her pert little arse. Sandor bit at his lip. How good it would be to grab it and fuck her like that. To feel her tight, virgin cunt squeezing his cock as he made his way into her.

_You fucking idiotic dog, _he sneered at himself as his aching shaft twitched in his smallclothes and a fever flooded his face. _You've created your own personal hell with this buggering situation. It's all good being able to look but when you can't touch, what's the bloody point?_ Still, in spite of his burgeoning frustration, Sandor stayed in the pool, the thought of taking his stare from the girl or moving an inch from her simply inconceivable.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, the little bird was humming softly, her head tilted to the side and eyes shut as she carefully wrung her hair. Even in the middle of the spring, the water only reached her hips and Sandor could see the skirt of her shift seemingly flying around her legs under the surface. It was a maddening sight and he wished he could get behind her, slide his hands under and tear the damned thing from her frame…Or at least free his shaft from its confines and fuck his hand while admiring her. _Seven buggering hells_, the man cursed, exhaling loudly. His arousal was getting so acute, his ear buzzed but there was not much he could do about it. Sandor could feel himself growing more and more restless, each muscles of his sturdy build clenching and unclenching repeatedly and his hands closing and opening by his sides. _Bugger it all,_ he decided suddenly, bringing a hand over his groin and stroking his erection as best he could over his smallclothes. He did it for just an instant – he only wanted to assuage his tension – but no sooner had he stopped than he was even worse than before. All the gesture had achieved was to tease him. _Gods, if only I could fuck her…_

Sandor was just about to touch himself again when the little bird's lithe form stiffened. Whether it was his building agitation or the way he was standing in place and staring at her that had alerted her, the man couldn't say, yet the fact was the girl had noticed something was amiss. Swirling around to face him, she laid wide eyes on him, probably expecting him to do the polite thing and avert his gaze just as soon. He did not though and Sandor could tell she was taken aback by it. No, instead, he shamelessly lowered his stare and let it roam over her figure, drinking thirstily at her sight.

The previously pure white cloth of the girl's shift had lost its colour and became almost transparent thanks to the water, revealing the pale cream hue of her skin. Regardless of how tantalizing it was, for the moment all Sandor truly had eyes for were the alluring manner of her two stiff, little pink nipples pointed in the air before her and the hint of red just below the surface of the water where the juncture of her thighs was hidden.

In a way, Sandor was almost glad to have been caught, for it meant there was no point in pretending anymore. With the water arriving far bellow his thighs, there was nothing subtle about his state; the girl only had to glance down to realise why he had been studying her so much for the last few minutes. It was somewhat liberating to see his truth exposed, no matter how ugly it might look to her. Was she peeking at his cock just now? Sandor wondered, the thought not doing much to quell his ardour.

When he finally raised his stare to meet hers, the little bird's eyes were rounded and the pale skin of her face and chest was coloured a deep shade of pink. The poor girl was biting at her lip and shivering, her breasts heaving noticeably every time she breathed. She was scared and it was easy to tell. Sandor couldn't blame her; she was a maiden as helpless as they came after all and he was a frightful sight on his best days - and this was not one of them. The reality of the situation that she was nearly nude in a hot spring with a man more than twice her size had apparently hit her. While Sandor could read her fear, to see the little bird so lightly covered, face flushed and panting brought the most lewd images to his mind and he was suddenly overwhelmed by how much he wanted her.

"Little bird…" he rasped lowly, slowly crossing the few steps that separated them.

At first, the girl was too petrified to react but when Sandor seized her by the waist and yanked her to him, she stirred back in his hold, her slender muscles all taut under his touch. "My lord, what… what are you doing?" she asked in a small, distraught voice. Her face was cast upward but she seemingly couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze and her plump, pink mouth was slightly opened and breathless.

Sandor didn't reply. There was nothing to say. Instead he pulled her more tightly to him and lowered his head to her neck to nuzzle at the soft skin there. The intoxicating, feminine perfume that emanated from her was clouding his mind, chasing away the meagre remnant of coherent thoughts he still had and replacing them with naught but burning hot desire like he had never experienced before.

Tensing and shifting awkwardly under his hold, the little bird was lightly pushing her hands against his arms but apart from that, didn't truly try to flee from his clutches.

"My lord?" she repeated in an anxious whisper when Sandor lowered his palms to cup the cheeks of her arse.

The girl uselessly pushed her hands harder against his biceps, as if she believed the gesture would make a difference, but Sandor didn't let her go. Instead, he kept on kneading her delicious bottom and pressed his erection against her firmly enough that there was no way she could ignore it anymore. Gasping, the little bird finally gave in to panic and she began squirming against him. It was all in vain. Sandor's arms were locked too solidly around her and all her attempts to escape did nothing but stimulate his engorged shaft and make him picture more easily how her little body would writhe under him as he took her maidenhead. A faraway part of him still remembered he shouldn't be doing what he was about to do but instead of heeding it, Sandor shut it off. Hoisting her over his shoulder, he walked out of the hot spring.

* * *

It had taken Sansa longer than it should to realise what she had gotten herself into. As always, the Hound had been right to tell her she was far too naïve and gullible for her own good. So often during her stay in King's Landing, he had warned her against the evils of the world. Sansa would never have suspected the threat might come from him though and that was one more proof of the accuracy of Sandor Clegane's words. She ought to be more wary. Yet for some reason, she had trusted and felt safe with him despite his harsh and intimidating ways and to see she had been wrong was yet another rude awakening. _He has never pretended to be better than anyone else,_ Sansa reminded herself. _Quite the contrary._ _He even once told me the only difference between him and any knight or great lord was that unlike them, he admitted to his brutality and didn't pretend it was motivated by some noble purpose. _

To see him stare at her like a starved animal watching its prey had been extremely disquieting and when Sansa noticed he was aroused, she had understood things were not looking good for her. The cold fingers of fear had seized her at once, rooting her in place and making her even less of a challenge for the Hound. As easily as if Sansa had been a wild flower, he had picked her up from the ground and settled her over his shoulder as he carried her out of the spring.

Installed on a bed of moss, she was now lying on her back and breathing hard while the man loomed just on top of her, his stubble covered cheek scratching her as he nuzzled and bit lightly at her neck. His body was so near, it brushed against hers with each of his movements - his skin warm and muscles as solid and powerful as steel. Yet, most disturbing of all was how his hand was moulding her breasts and his fingers played with her nipples through the soaked fabric of her shift.

Wide-eyed, Sansa was purposelessly searching the emptiness before her, unsure what she should do. "My lord?" she called, her voice sounding meek and frightened to her own ears. Lowering her gaze to him, she lifted her hands to his upper arms and squeezed them as hard as she could in an attempt to attract his attention. He seemed like in some sort of trance; perhaps he only needed to be shaken out of it. "Please… What… what do you want?" Sansa felt foolish as soon as she had uttered the question. She knew what it was he wanted, only it was much less terrifying to pretend she didn't.

"Shhhh," the Hound's voice a low rumble in her ear. Leaning on his side, he began fumbling at the laces of her collar.

"My lord! Don't!" Sansa begged him, laying her hands over his and trying to stop him but it was futile of course and in no time, the man had torn the laces open until both her breasts were completely uncovered.

Despite the sun, the air was cool against Sansa's wet skin and her nipples stiffened even more at the contact. Sandor Clegane grunted appreciatively. It was both embarrassing and distressing to find herself so exposed to his eyes. All she wanted was to hide her nakedness from his view but the man was obviously not going to let that happen and so she stayed still - her stare lowered bashfully and face ablaze - and allowed him to look at her as much as he desired.

Almost immediately, the man brought a hand over the curve of one of her breasts, closing his palm around it and taking its nipple in his half-burnt mouth to suck at it hungrily. The girl squeaked and stirred at the twinges the touch sent all the way to her lower belly. The sensation was so odd - sharing the sharpness of physical pain without truly hurting - and Sansa wasn't sure to make of it.

Grazing at her nipple with his teeth, the Hound removed his hand from her breast and let it trail down her stomach, grasping her sodden skirt when he reached her thigh and bunching it over her waist. Sansa had not worn anything under her shift in order to clean herself more easily and her heart skipped a beat at the memory. Faster than she could react, the man spread her legs wide apart and installed himself in-between. While she had so far managed to maintain a semblance of calm, the vulnerable position in which the Hound had just put her made her lose it completely.

"Oh no! _Please_! No!" she cried, her head thrown back as she uselessly pushed and scratched at his shoulders with her hands and wriggled her legs around him.

With all her strength, Sansa tried to lift her middle and torso but it was impossible. Sandor Clegane's body was as heavy and solid as a fortress constraining her to the ground. No matter how much she tried, she could not get him to move even in the slightest. He stayed well in place over her, his forearm propped by the side of her head and his breath warming her neck and hair while his free hands fondled the flesh of her inner-thigh. Worse, with her effort, she was involuntarily rubbing his manhood and the notion that he might actually take pleasure from the friction finally impelled her to quit.

_It's all in vain anyway!_ _Whatever I do, the Hound is going to steal my maiden's gift in a few instants, _Sansa was forced to admit to herself, the horror the idea woke in her bringing tears to her eyes. There was no way in all the Seven Kingdoms she could fight him off. He was far too strong for her and all she would achieve by resisting would be to make it harder for him not to hurt her even more as he broke through her veil. From what Sansa had been told, although a maiden was to expect pain on the night of her wedding, by being docile to her husband she could help the consummation run more smoothly. _Yes, that's what I'll do, _the girl decided, the thought sounding distant, as if it came from elsewhere than within herself. _Let him do as he pleases and it surely won't be as awful, _she hoped, shivering of all her length in spite of her newborn pragmatism.

Trying hard to resign herself to her fate, she inhaled a deep and shaky breath and squeezed her eyes shut while forcing herself to relax. A wet noise was heard then and even before Sansa had time to wonder what it might be, she felt a spit-slickened finger reach the juncture of her thighs and spread her folds. Her lips gaping in shock, the girl's eyes popped open - a whimper escaping her lips as the finger plunged into her. It was strange, sort of uncomfortable but she remained motionless, adamant about complying to whatever was coming.

"So tight," the Hound rasped under his breath, his voice so raw, she barely recognised it.

Raising his hand to his mouth, he spat on his fingers and dipped his forefinger into her again. It stayed there but a moment longer, the man shortly removing his hand to grope at his smallclothes. Realising what was happening, Sansa tensed despite herself. _Don't resist. Don't resist,_ she repeated inwardly, her pulse hammering madly in her ears. She was still reciting the words in her head when the end of the Hound's shaft was positioned at her entrance. The girl could tell it was big – it was only natural with a man as tall and brawny as Sandor Clegane – and her cleft was already being stretched even at that early stage. The unwanted invasion, added to his bulky build imprisoning her so entirely, made Sansa feel trapped and panic abruptly overtook her again. Exactly as she had promised herself she wouldn't, she began struggling against his hold.

"No! Please don't do this! NO!" she cried out, her voice echoing into the emptiness of the woods for no one to hear.

Thrashing about, she scraped her nails at his shoulders and neck deeply enough to break skin but the Hound was unfazed by any of this and did not even pause to glance at her. Without thinking, she bit at his neck - finally succeeding in catching him off guards – however as he flinched and loosened his grasp on her, the head of his manhood slid the wrong way and bounced into her inner wall.

"Ah," Sansa yelped, freezing at once and shutting her eyes against the bolt of pain that went through her.

"You little she-wolf! See what you've done?" Sandor Clegane grunted, pushing her flush against the floor with a hand on her upper arm. "Now _calm down_ and I promise I'll do my best no to hurt you. _Understood_?"

Nodding, Sansa sniffled and dug her nails into moist earth around her. It had been stupid of her to fight back. She had known it even as she did it but had acted out of instinct, like the hare that precipitates its death by trying to escape the snare that caught it.

"Good," the Hound murmured.

A hand clenched solidly around her hip. He gradually but persistently began burying himself into her, each of his small thrusts inducing a gasp from Sansa and increasing the pain until she received his final and most unforgiving stab. A tear went rolling down her cheek and a quiet lament left her mouth as the Hound's shaft hit her just underneath her entrance and his groin bumped against her mound, assuring her that no trace of her precious maidenhead remained. _That's it, I'm ruined,_ Sansa thought disbelievingly, the situation seeming so unreal, as if she wasn't truly living through it.

Panting as loudly as an exhausted stallion, the man seemed very briefly dazed but he quickly braced his back and resumed rocking his pelvis against hers. While he did go slowly as promised for the first few shoves, it was easy to tell he had a hard time restraining himself and that his carefulness wouldn't last very long. The idea was not reassuring in the least; Sansa's insides were already burning like wildfire around his massive manhood and with every single of his comings and goings, she felt as if she was being torn open. How would it be when he released his full might on her?

The girl didn't have to wait long to find out. Sandor Clegane had only begun possessing her when his movements grew more vigorous and hectic, the change in force and pace taking the air out of her lungs. His hand still firmly clasped at her hip, he successively pulled her to him and then propelled her backward with each of his thrusts which made Sansa's back hit the moss under her one moment and collide against the Hound's rock-solid torso the next. It was almost as if they were wrestling instead of coupling and the girl was suddenly reminded of those terrible, ferocious bulls she had sometimes seen when travelling in the countryside around Winterfell. This was surely how it felt to attempt to ride one – Sansa had seen young men break their necks trying - only now, she was the one being mounted.

Glancing over the muscular shoulder that obscured her view, she kept her eyes on the high canopy and the pure blue sky above all the while desperately trying to steady herself against Sandor Clegane's constant assault but it was impossible. With a cry not far from a sob, Sansa shut her eyes and bit hard at her lip, ready to break down.

"Hold onto me," the Hound mumbled roughly, his words startling her. As he spoke, he lifted one of her thighs and pushed it against his side and then, grabbed her arm and threw it over his shoulder.

Sansa did immediately as he bid her - closing her legs around his hips and snaking both her arms over his shoulder blades - and she was immediately relieved to see that by clinging to him so, her general discomfort was somehow alleviated quite significantly. Encouraged, she clutched at Sandor Clegane as tightly as she could, the smell of his sweat filling her nostrils.

_This is not so bad,_ Sansa mused after a couple of much more bearable thrusts._ I can deal with this. _Instinctively arching her back, she began adapting herself to his motion and predicting his shoves instead of trying to avoid them as she had done previously. All she needed was to let herself get carried by the flow of his movements and not resist against the waves of his lust as they came rushing on her. His claiming of her became much more fluid - his shaft entering her with surprising precision.

While the soreness of Sansa's womb still remained, the friction of the Hound's shaft against her inner walls as he came in and out of her was also starting to rouse something entirely different, some sort of pressure or tickling - the girl wasn't sure - that teased her loins in the most curious fashion. It wasn't wholly unpleasant and made her eyelids grow heavy and body feel numb and sensitive at once.

She was forcing herself to focus only on that peculiar sensation when Clegane's hand left her hip to cover her collarbone. "Tell me you love this," he rasped. He moved his hand to her neck and his fingers tightened around it. The force was light – not hard enough to choke her but hard enough to _convince_. "Go on. You never gave me my song."

Sansa moaned, hoping that it was what he meant, and breathed a sigh of relief when he freed her throat to roll her nipple between his forefinger and thumb instead. The touch, added to the man's continuous invasion of her cleft as he tirelessly grinded his hips against hers soon impelled her to moan again. Dizzy and faintly abashed, Sansa distractedly glanced at him through hooded eyes all the while letting out another small moan. The Hound was keeping his face downcast and giving his entire attention to her body – his horrific burns only partially visible behind the locks of lank, black hair that fell before them and his eyes shining with a rabid spark. Sweat was beading all over his skin and his broad chest heaving almost violently and yet, he indefatigably kept on taking her, his calloused hand moving to stroke her breasts while his stare restlessly raked all over her curves. It was so strange the way he was looking at her; both totally captivated by her and heedless of her at the same time. Sansa wasn't sure she understood it completely.

"Little bird…" Sandor Clegane whispered suddenly between clenched teeth. Straightening his back and raising himself on a knee, he clamped his hand to the back of her thigh, pushed it upward and increased his speed."_Oh_ _gods_…"

Sansa tried to follow his movement but it was difficult at this faster pace. Somehow, he could now reach into her even further than before which soon woke a new and different sort of pain that seemed to arise from the very depth of her womb. Her whole body clenched at the Hound's pounding. Sansa dug her nails into the skin of his neck, whimpering and squeaking, fruitlessly trying to prevent him from going too deeply by any means she could. Yet once more, it was impossible and he continued claiming her just as intently, his hand like a vise keeping her well in place.

Just as it was getting too much for Sansa and tears were starting to well in her eyes, the man halted, uttering some sort of throaty growl, before resuming rocking his hips less franticly. After a few additional desperate thrusts, he sheathed himself to the hilt, stiffened and collapsed over her, crushing her under his weight. _It's over, _Sansa realised with faint relief while letting her trembling arms and legs fall to her sides. The Hound was extremely heavy, nevertheless she didn't voice a word of complaint and endured while waiting silently until he remembered she was under him.

A few second passed like that during which all Sansa could hear were the sounds of the singing birds, the wind in the leaves and the man catching his breath. However at some point, Sandor Clegane came round and moved over her. Propping himself on his elbows, he instantly found Sansa's stare with his. It was the first time he looked her straight in the eyes since this had all started and at meeting his glare, the girl wasn't sure she had missed it at all.

He made a little noise, a small, wry laugh, then averted his gaze from her. "_You are so fucked_," he hissed lowly after a heartbeat or two in such a way that Sansa couldn't entirely tell whether he was referring to her or to himself.

The burnt corner of his mouth twitching, the Hound rolled to his back, a thick and warm liquid dripping from Sansa's throbbing folds as soon as he withdrew from her. After the heat of his skin, the fresh air of the forest was shockingly cool and the girl immediately began to shiver. She could vaguely hear Sandor Clegane mutter what she could guess was an impressive string of curses and see him bring his hands over his thrown back head out the corner of her eyes but Sansa didn't pay it much attention. No instead, she stared at the high canopy as it towered over her and watched the now steady branches of the trees point at the cloudless sky above, wondering how she should feel.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi everyone! Here's a new chapter, which I hope some of you will enjoy!_

_Once more, I'd like to thank Kimberlite8 for her help betaying this fic and adding that extra edge to the story. Kimberlite8 is the greatest! :D :D :D_

_WARNINGS REMINDER:_

_I'm continuing with this fanfiction and expect it will be a long one. If you chose to continue to read, please remember that this work is written to cater to women like myself who have rape fantasies. I am not advocating that rape is ever acceptable. I'm sure we all have things that we like to read about but we would never support or do._

_This story is not reality and Sandor and Sansa are not real people. They are fantasy figures and any fantasy, including rape fantasies, is the product of someone's inner thoughts and daydreams and therefore are inherently consensual. If you find this material triggering, you as the reader always retain control by choosing to not read this work. If you do, please don't kink shame me. And please don't kink shame my commenters. Society too often policies women's bodies and women's sexual desires, and neither I or my readers warrant harassment for having sexual fantasies that don't conform to convention._

* * *

One of the snares Sandor had set earlier in the forest had caught a squirrel and he had let the dead creature roast over the campfire for some time. They had both eaten some of the meat, he and the little bird, although he had force her to consume her share of it.

"Eat!" he had told her after she had held the greasy meat between her fingers and stared at it for a few minutes.

And she had. She was an obedient little thing and there was no denying it. Stretching his limbs over his bedroll, Sandor sighed and threw his head back. _Gods, what the fuck was I thinking? _Well he hadn't been thinking at all: that was the thing. He had lost his control and that was as simple as that. Still, he was far from the first man to allow his basest instincts to have the better of him with a woman – _and nor would he be the last_. From time immemorial, wherever there were idle warriors and unprotected maids, something of the sort was always bound to happen. Sandor knew it well enough, having witnessed serving wenches and farmer's daughters get forcibly pushed in dark corners by lustful knight or men-at-arms on more than a few occasions throughout his campaigns. After all, the farther a man was from his home and family, the easier it became for him to forget himself and the higher his rank in life was, the more chances he had people would close their eyes on his misconduct.

However, the truth was, Sandor's current situation was hardly similar. Indeed, the little bird was not some lowly peasant or innkeep's daughter with whom he could do whatever he pleased without having to fear paying the consequences later on but the sister of the fucking King in the North._ A bloody princess._ As her escort and protector, he had been charged to keep her out of harm's way, which doubtless included safeguarding her virtue and making sure she arrived at her home as whole as she had left it. Sandor snorted. That last part hadn't worked out so well, hadn't it? Today, he had done the worst possible thing a man with his mission could've done to his maidenly charge – apart from killing her, of course.

Why by the buggering Stranger had Joffrey chosen him? Sandor had never asked for the mission, it had been given _to him_. Of course, he'd be lying if he pretended he had not wanted it. Yet from the moment Joffrey had announced he would be the one to deliver the _Lady Sansa Stark_ back to her brother and mother, the man had known deep down that to be alone with her and have her under his command for so long was perhaps not such a good idea. His misgivings hadn't stopped him from accepting the mission though and instead of voicing or even, listening to his concerns, he had chased them to the back of his mind and acted as if they didn't even exist. It was almost as if a part of him had longed to put himself in a position where the worst could happen and Sandor was now starting to suspect Joffrey had guessed as much and chosen him exactly for that reason.

All evening the little bird had been silent and done exactly as he asked. After their interlude on the moss, she had cleaned up – _once more_ – taken off her sodden shift and put on some dry and warm clothes. As darkness grew, she had settled their bedrolls side by side by the fire as she always did when they slept under the stars and when he'd told her to eat, she had obeyed and ingested her share of their meal but her eyes had always stayed downcast and her lips, pressed tightly together.

Unlike the girl's, Sandor's own stare had never left her for long. The man watched her as she executed her tasks and later, demurely sat at the other side of the campfire. In those moments, he had wondered what could be going through her head. _No doubt she's in total shock and believes her value to be completely lost, _Sandor had surmised, his mouth twitching.

_She's wrong though_, he reflected once again. Brides didn't always bleed on their wedding night, especially those highborn. It was common knowledge that many lost their maidenhead while ridding horses and so if a girl's virtue had no reason to be questioned, no one raised an eyebrow when her marital sheets were still as white as snow on the following morning. The fact that she might have forgotten herself and spread her legs for some smooth-talking young man would never cross anyone's mind. The little bird was neither of the previous though and Sandor had seen the plain proof of that splattered over his cock after he'd been done with her. Yet, even if the fact that the loss of her veil had not been accidental was ever to be known, the girl's prospects wouldn't be as dramatically reduced as she probably feared. Soiled or unsoiled, a highborn heiress would always be a sought-after prize, especially one as beautiful as the little bird. More importantly though, there was no reason anyone should learn of his slip with her. As long as she kept her mouth shut and pretended to be as innocent as she looked, no one would ever be the wiser. And that would be all for the best for the both of them. Guarding their dirty little secret would be just as profitable for the girl as for himself, allowing her to preserve her honour while enabling Sandor to keep his ugly head over his shoulders where it belonged. In the end, it didn't truly matter what role she or he had played in this afternoon's incident. They were now in the same boat and would just as equally benefit from secrecy.

_You did come in her though, dog_, Sandor mused suddenly. The thought should have been a reproach but the image of his seed between the little bird's thighs instantly aroused him. Exhaling loudly, he rolled to his side to gaze her way. W_ell that happens often enough and not always with consequences. _He didn't have to worry. He knew she had flowered – everyone did in the Red Keep after she had so stupidly tried to burn her bedding in the fireplace of her chamber all those moons ago. But while the exact details of how it worked evaded him, Sandor knew women didn't always grow big after having been filled with a man's seed. Chances were, all was fine.

The little bird was laying on her bedroll at about arm-length from Sandor with her back to him and her hair was shining in the firelight like molten copper. The furs that covered her slim form were thick, yet the man could still discern the curve of her hip underneath and her scent – that sweet scent which had done so much to provoke him that afternoon in the hot spring – tickled his nostrils every time the wind blew his way.

_Seven bloody hells,_ Sandor cursed inwardly while grunting aloud. Having her by his side at night had always been a sweet torture but now that he had had his taste of her, keeping his mind from going in the most lewd directions was impossible. It was all too easy to picture the girl as she had been earlier, her legs wide open for him and her smooth, round teats bouncing as he pounded himself into her. _Gods, how perfect she felt around my cock,_ the man recalled while unwittingly stroking himself through his breeches and feeling how stiff and ready he was. And where was she? Lying on the ground just before him, _available_. She was not even truly asleep. Sandor could tell by the uneven rhythm of her breathing and how tense her body was.

_She's already soiled. You've already destroyed the trust she had in you. There's nothing to break anymore. No sense in resisting and depriving yourself, _Sandor concluded. On a whim, he propped himself on his elbow, lifted an arm over her and pulled her to him.

As he had suspected, the little bird was awake. She squeaked as she collided onto his chest but didn't resist when he slid his hand under her furs to stroke her waist.

Pressing his shaft against her arse, Sandor brushed the locks of hair that fell over her neck with a hand and bit lightly at the creamy skin he uncovered. "Little bird?" he asked, trailing his hand down her body until it rested right before her cunt and traced small circles over the fabric of her skirts. "Still sore?"

"Yes," she replied in a barely audible whisper.

Sandor growled displeasingly. He'd have preferred she'd have been as good as new but that was too much to ask for so soon of course. "I'll be careful," he promised, pushing all the superfluous furs and covers away.

The little bird yelped and moved to grip them, quickly giving up when they landed out of her grasp. Sandor could hear her breathe heavily, however this time he was more patient and waited a few seconds to give her a chance to calm down all the while softly caressing her middle. When she was no longer panting, he brought his hand over her corset and started pulling at its laces. They were difficult to undo in the dark and from behind, yet he ended up managing it and soon, he was cupping her teats in his palms and gently pinching her nipples with his fingers. Her breasts were just as sweet as he remembered and touching them like that was incredibly intoxicating to him. The strength with which he needed her was frankly maddening.

Without hesitating, Sandor lifted her skirts from under her as best he could and brought his hand to her hip. She had smallclothes on this time. He yanked them down but it didn't go so smoothly in the position she was in and they caught below the curve of her arse. Surprisingly though, the girl shifted her weight to help him and even moved her legs as he slid the garb along them to ease his task.

_Seven hells,_ Sandor thought a little breathlessly. It was easy to believe she really wanted it. Why else would she willingly undress herself otherwise? _She has no other bloody choice. How is she supposed to push you away? _It was true yet in his present state, there wasn't much left of Sandor's judgement and discernment. All he cared about for the time being was the little bird's body and the pleasure he could get from it and anything that might diminish the latter was not worth dwelling on for too long.

Spiting on his fingers, he brought his hand to the juncture of her thighs and explored her delicate folds before plunging a finger into her as deeply as he could. The little bird let out a soft cry at that, her lithe muscles tautening, and her hands clamping over his.

"Shhh, relax," he told her, slowing his movement to appease her while nonetheless preparing her for his cock.

Lifting his hand to his lips, Sandor licked his fingers to moisten them – the scent emanating from them making his mouth water. His forefinger didn't meet any resistance when it entered the little bird's cleft again and so the man dipped in a second one also, in it in and out of her a few more times before removing them and rising on his elbow. As deftly as was possible in the darkness, he undid the cords of his breeches to free his engorged and aching cock, the heavy thing falling into his palm just as soon. Being big had always been a source of male pride to Sandor. Still next to the thinness of the girl's waist and her pert little arse, his shaft looked even larger than usual. Considering their respective sizes, the desire he had to bury himself completely into her seemed almost preposterous, yet the man knew better. Somehow, it would all fit in.

Tugging at his shaft once more, Sandor grunted in relief at the sensation the touch brought and grasped the back of the little bird's thigh with his hand, lifting it in the air to spread her legs wide apart. "Stay like that," he instructed her while positioning the head of his cock at her entrance and immediately starting to fill her with his length.

"Ah," the little bird whimpered, shifting slightly against him.

His hand returning to the back of her thigh, Sandor kept her from flinching away as he continued making his way into her, his head turning and sweat beading all over his skin. He had fucked many women through his life – whores all of them – but none had ever felt like her. It was not only that she was tight and pure and that her body was flawless. There was something else he couldn't put his finger on, something that went directly to his brain and drove him crazy.

"_Fuck_," he cursed, as the last of his shaft was engulfed into the girl's cunt. Keeping her bottom flushed against his groin, Sandor was moving ever so slightly into the little bird, enjoying the sensation of being squeeze so mercilessly by the walls of her warm cunt as he attempted to catch his breath.

As he did, the girl uttered some sort of hushed lament, her little build stirring uncomfortably.

"I'm hurting you?" the man inquired, remembering himself at last and peering down at her lovely profile.

"Yes," she admitted meekly, her eyes closed and dainty features stiff.

The burnt corner of Sandor's mouth twitched. "Don't worry," he rasped. "You're new to this. It won't always be like that."

The little bird nodded faintly and without waiting, the man started rocking his hips against hers, tightening the hold he had around her thigh to control the movements better. The girl whined as he increased his pace but when Sandor realised she was trying to move away, he seized her shoulder with the hand he had laying on the ground to force her to stay in place.

"Don't make this hard," he warned her, shifting more of his weight onto her as his other hand still clutched firmly around her thigh.

She didn't resist any further and gasped as his shoves became wider, his cock going in and out of her almost entirely with each new thrust.

"Move with me," he directed her, licking at her neck. She did, although very timidly, but that was good enough for such a novice. "Yes, like that," he murmured approvingly while hastening his pace.

Seeing she had understood what he wanted from her, Sandor removed his hands from her thigh and lowered it between her legs. With his fingers, he found the small nub of flesh where he knew women took their pleasure from and began rubbing it. Her folds were slightly dry and so he withdrew his hand and spat on in before promptly resuming his ministrations.

"You're going to sing me that sweet song of yours again, won't you, little bird?" he bid, his voice ragged and raw.

In a response, the girl let out a small moan. The sound was so very beautiful and encouraged him to add pressure on her nub which made her moan again and again. Sandor was relishing her sweet chant, certain he'd never hear anything so melodious again even if he was to live a thousand years. Yet he realised he needed more and pulled out of her.

Abruptly sitting up, he pushed the little bird on her back. The girl yelped in surprise yet she didn't resist in any way as he spread her legs, installed himself in-between and entered her once more - this time in one quick thrust.

"Little bird," he hissed sharply, seizing her wrists and bringing them both over her head before imprisoning them under the hand he kept to the ground to balance his weight.

Sandor could tell by the way her breasts were heaving that the girl was unsettled by this new position but he was far too aroused to care. Spread open as she was, the little bird was totally helpless and all _his_ to conquer and the sight was beyond alluring to him. With renewed vigour, he resumed invading her, all the while letting his free hand travel along her curves, fondling her everywhere. Ultimately though, his palm ended its voyage over her round and perfect teats and the man obsessively began to mould and weight them. As he had hoped, her nipples were stiff and after having rolled them between his fingers for a few seconds, he bowed over to greedily suck one with his mouth.

"Gods, girl, you're good. Believe my bloody words," he whispered hoarsely. The moonlight and firelight were both glowing on the little bird's beautiful face when Sandor raised his eyes to glance at her. Her pale skin was like porcelain and with her eyes shut and at the proximity they were in, he could admire how long her eyelashes were. Her plump, pink lips were faintly open, parting a little more in the most inviting manner each time he thrust his swollen cock into her. No woman Sandor had fucked had ever been even slightly as breathtaking. Without thinking it over and despite his lack of experience, Sandor pressed his lips to hers.

At first, she didn't respond, yet when he slid his tongue into her mouth, the little bird didn't do anything to push him away. She allowed him do as he pleased and the touch of her tender little tongue against his heated his blood even more.

Nibbling at her luscious lips, Sandor intensified the speed of his thrusts, his balls tightening with every excruciating second. His end was coming closer. It was both frustrating and exhilarating but it seemed that with her, he couldn't last longer than a green boy with his first whore. Oh well, perhaps it was better this way given how she had been a maiden no earlier than this afternoon.

With that in mind, Sandor allowed himself to set his pride aside. Bracing his back, he clenched his hand around her hip and started hammering his shaft into her more franticly.

The girl gasped and wriggled from under him but she was highly limited in her movements, her arms constrained over her head by his grip.

"Ah!" she complained, her little frame trashing from side to side.

"It's over now," Sandor assured her, pumping himself into her cleft with increased strength.

As his peak came on him, the man very briefly remembered it might have been preferable he pulled out. _I came in her already once today. It won't change anything at this point,_ he justified to himself as he spilled his seed into her womb. Firmly holding her pelvis against his, he let out a deep growl and waited until he had ridden out the last remnants of his lust before loosening his clutches and letting go of both her wrists and hip at once.

As he fell over her, the girl squirmed and squeaked and so Sandor tiredly rolled to his back so as not to crush her, panting as much as if he had fought against the strongest and most challenging foe he had ever met.

After a few minutes, he finally wholly came round and grew aware of how cold the night was. "Summer's gone," the man remarked under his breath, sitting up and reaching for the furs he had discarded earlier on.

Once he had covered the little bird, he let himself fall by her side and pulled some of the furs over himself.

"Get some sleep now," he said. She curled into herself and seemed to lose consciousness and Sandor followed suit, closing his heavy eyelids, yet the veil of sleep did not come immediately as he had expected it to.

Something pricked at him. His conscience? Sandor snorted. He inched himself closer to the little bird, curling around her so their shoulders touched. His conscience could go fuck itself. The girl was his. Tonight. And tomorrow and the morrow after that. Winterfell was still a very distant thought. The man smiled, the comfort of that carrying him into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi to all the readers! _

_Here's a new chapter for this story. A big thank you to Kimberlite8 for helping me with this once more in spite of her hectic RL! :D_

* * *

The parts they were crossing were still as desolate as those they had travelled through for the last week or so but it fitted Sansa's frame of mind perfectly. The Riverlands were a wreck but she was in no mood to see beautiful things and wasn't sure she could even have noticed them anyway.

Both she and the Hound were riding side by side, her on her gentle chestnut mare and he, on his fierce dark stallion. That horse had scared her from the very first time she laid eyes on him: he was so fearsome and unpredictable, much like his master. She had always known it but never so much as now.

"The days are getting colder," Sandor Clegane suddenly broke the silence with his hoarse voice.

They were indeed. While the sky was blue, it was paler than it had been when they left King's Landing and the air was crisp, even more than on the coldest northern days Sansa remembered from her childhood.

"We better make camp soon. If we don't want to freeze tonight, we'll need to gather a lot of firewood."

It was still early in the afternoon but Sansa could see the sense in the Hound's words and so when the man glanced her way, she nodded.

"Right. Let's go then," he said, turning his stallion around to leave the deserted road.

Sansa followed in his path, staying a few yards behind and keeping her eyes on the ground for fear that her mare would trip over some unseen rock or root and break a leg. After a few moments of slowly riding between the leafless trees, they found a small clearing with a creek nearby and halted there. Once they had both dismounted, taken the saddles from their mounts and brushed their pelt, the Hound turned to Sansa and lowered his gaze on her.

"I'll chop some firewood. In the meantime, why don't you gather some tinder for us? You can do that, can you?"

"Of course," the girl replied softly, barely managing to meet his eyes. She had always been daunted by the Hound and found it hard to look directly at his face – hideous scars and wrathful stare alike – but with yesterday's events, it was even more difficult for her.

He didn't comment on that, thankfully. "Go on then."

Without delay, Sansa entered the forest and began searching the ground. It was easy for her to travel through the woods and find what she was looking for with autumn having stripped the trees from their leaves. She did have to push the dead leaves from the ground to see what was laying underneath but at least, there was no way she lost sight of their camp and the thought was reassuring. She feared most of all to get lost and find herself alone in the unknown.

_In the unknown_, Sansa thought while letting out a nervous little laugh. That was exactly how she felt since yesterday and he had… he had…

A big piece of dry wood was just at Sansa's feet and she gathered it in her arms with the others. Perhaps it was because of the strong winds that had lately blown over the Riverlands but finding tinder had proved no challenge today. Her arms were already full and so, she turned around and strolled in their camp's direction.

From afar, Sansa could see the Hound chopping a large trunk he had found apparently not far from the clearing and she used his tall shape as a reference to find her way back. Keeping her eyes demurely lowered, she walked toward him, the rhythmic sound of the dead tree being cleaved to pieces echoing in the empty and seemingly endless forest around her and getting louder with each new step she took. Every now and then, Sansa glanced up to make sure she was still heading in the right direction and as she got closer, she finally noticed how agitated Sandor Clegane seemed. She raised her gaze completely to truly look at him.

The man had removed his tunic, coat of mail shirt and cloak despite the coldness of the air and was using that large and scary-looking battle axe she had seen him carry around ever since they had left the capital. With far more strength than was strictly necessary, he was repetitively hitting the trunk with the weapon and pitilessly cutting its wood to pulp, his face twisted in an ugly and hateful mask of rage. The sight was totally frightening to Sansa and she slowed down in her progress, yet she found she couldn't take her eyes away from him. Sandor Clegane's hairy chest was glistening with sweat under the sunlight and his massive, sinewy muscles contracted with each of his movements in the most intimidating fashion possible. If he had wished to remind her of how strong and powerful he was and respectively, of how helpless and weak she was next to him, he could not have found a more convincing display.

With some sort of morbid fascination, Sansa's gaze kept on travelling over the Hound, from the terrible burns that disfigured half of his face so horrifically to his muscular torso, but when at about three yards from him it fell over the marks he had on his shoulders, she froze completely. While Sandor Clegane had many scars on his body, these were fresh and red and caught her eyes unwillingly. _Oh, gods!_ Sansa thought with dismay after an instant of staring at them, a shiver going down her spine. _Those are mine!_

She could see it now: it was her nails that had scraped into his skin yesterday as he took her against the moss and as the Hound braced his back, she glimpsed the imprint of her teeth just where his sturdy neck met his collar bone. She had bitten him, Sansa now remembered. _I had almost forgotten._ The shock of seeing what she had done made her briefly forget herself and she dropped the tinder she had held in her arms to the ground.

"Careful with that wood, little bird," Sandor Clegane rasped as he leaned the head of his axe to the ground and laid his gaze on her. In the angle he was at, all Sansa could see from his face were the leathery and twisted dark skin of his scars and the hint of bone down his jaw. "We'll need it tonight," the man added, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Of course," Sansa replied, her cheeks ablaze and body shivering. As she spoke, her stare kept darting to the marks on the Hound's shoulders.

Unsurprisingly, the man noticed and glanced down at them. When he saw what had attracted her attention so, he peered at Sansa, his mouth curving into a faint, sly smirk, but he quickly looked away and lifted his axe high over his head with both hands. A sharp noise resounded in the woods – causing a couple of birds to fly from a branch nearby - as the Hound swung the heavy weapon down and cleaved open the log he had standing in front of him. Her heart beating madly in her chest, Sansa stared at the two resulting thinner logs as they fell to the ground, yet she hastily shook herself and bent down to pick up the tinder she had dropped.

When she was done, she hurried to their camp and tossed everything to the floor._ How did I ever do something like this? _she wondered, horrified. The notion that she could have scratched and bitten someone enough to leave scars shamed her to no end. _He did… he did provoke me,_ she reminded , there was no way around it: ladies didn't do things like that. The idea that she had mortified her to no end even while she knew her guilt was ludicrous.

Chasing the troubling thought away as best she could, Sansa settled up the camp. As she did whenever they spent the night in the open, she unrolled their bedrolls on the floor and set their furs and covers over them. She and the Hound had always slept nearby for protection reasons but as she installed everything, she was tempted to place their beds a bit more apart than usual. _But what will it change? If he wants me, nothing will stop him. _The realisation convinced her not to attempt anything. There was no avoiding it anyhow. She knew it would happen again. And really, why should she dread it? The worst was already done and she understood well enough how it went by now. There was nothing to fear. Or at least, that was what she tried to convince herself of. Her decision taken, Sansa installed their bedrolls even nearer. There was no use in fighting the inevitable and she therefore wouldn't.

When the Hound came back, his arms were filled with logs. He had chopped so much wood that he had to return to the dead tree a few times to collect everything but he flat-out refused Sansa's help when she proposed it. After having put his tunic and cloak back on, he began working on a fire, building some sort of pyramid with a few logs and some of the tinder Sansa had collected. It was still early: the sun had not yet set and was still strong and high in the sky.

"I've set a few snares," Sandor Clegane said, sitting on a log he had installed by the fire. "If we're lucky, one will have caught something before it's too dark to see and we should have nice embers to roast it by then."

Sansa nodded, her gaze lowered to where her hands were folded on her knees. Some meat was always welcome of course, no matter from which creature it came she had learned since they had departed from King's Landing.

Silence fell over them but Sansa was in no mood to break it. She was sitting on her bedroll at the other side of the campfire from the Hound, her stomach pulled into a tight knot, and doing her best not to attract his attention by staying as motionless as she could but her efforts were worthless. The man's gaze was glued on her and he was watching her while drinking from one of his wineskins, a rabid spark shining in his dark eyes. Sansa had a good idea of what he had in mind and while the very thought of it made her tremble with apprehension, she found the wait so very nerve-racking that she was almost relieved when Sandor Clegane finally spoke.

"Come over here," he told her nonchalantly.

Despite how she had expected his demand, Sansa wavered and the speed of her pulse increased.

"_Go on_," he bid her a bit more insistently.

Taking a deep breath, the girl rose and strolled toward him, unwilling to test his patience in spite of how relaxed he seemed. Her knees felt weak and the world around her unstable, yet Sansa managed not to lose her balance. When she got just in front of him, she halted and the man looked her up and down with unhidden interest.

Letting out an appreciative grunt, he bit at his lip and gazed up at her face. "Why don't you undress, little bird? I've never seen you completely naked. I'd like to correct that now."

Sansa was petrified for an instant. "B… but, my lord… It's cold. _I'd freeze_!"

"It's not so cold by the fire. I'm sweating just to be here," Sandor Clegane rasped. Undoing his cloak from his neck, he let it fall to the ground behind him to make his point. When he saw Sansa was still hesitating, the burnt corner of his mouth twitched. "All right. Just to please you, here." Twisting on his seat to pick an extra log from the ground, he added it to the fire. As he did, the flames crackled and grew instantly stronger and higher. "See, little bird? Even _I_ can be gallant when I want. Now why don't you do as I ask to thank me, _huh_?"

The worst was, he was right. Their campfire had been strong but with that extra log and the afternoon's sun still relatively warm, she was undeniably overdressed. Close to the flames' proximity as she was, she could probably remove all her layers and still be comfortable. And yet, to feel the Hound's piercing stare creep all over her skin and have naught left to hide behind… the mere idea made her shudder!

The man read right through her. "Don't be so shy, little bird. I only want to admire you," he assured her, his tone somewhat playful.

Sansa knew his intentions were not so simple but she couldn't well tell him _that_. He'd only laugh if she did. And anyhow, what were her choices? She had _none_ and thus, keeping her gaze lowered, she undid her cloak and the laces of her gown with shaky fingers and pulled the garb over her head. When she was down to her shift, she paused in her task and hugged herself more out of anxiety than cold. That she could be so nervous to disrobe before a man that had already taken her twice was certainly nonsensical, however Sansa despairingly needed something to cling to. By forcing her to expose her bare body to his eyes, Sandor Clegane was not only stripping her of her clothes but also, depriving her of the last semblance of propriety and distance that stood between them. Another step in the destruction of her privacy would be taken.

"Please, my lord… couldn't I keep my shift on like yesterday? I'll unlace the front if you want," Sansa pleaded even though she had little hope he would agree.

From his log, the Hound was watching her, his eyes shining in a mix of hunger and amusement. "Didn't you hear what I said just before? I know some of you highborn ladies were prude but that's not naked." He snorted a dry laugh, his face splitting into a wolfish grin. "At least not to me."

_The sooner I'll do as he demands, the sooner this will all be done and he'll leave me alone, _Sansa reluctantly concluded. Gathering her courage, she took off her shift and soon, her body was only covered with her smallclothes and long stockings.

At the view of her bare curves, the man's expression became serious and his build tensed visibly. "Come over here," he urged her in an almost menacing tone after a moment of studying her. Leaning forward, he circled his hands around her waist to force her to do as he asked.

When Sansa was standing between his spread out legs, he seized her smallclothes and tugged them down her thighs and then, with a hand at the small of her back and another behind her knees, he lifted her from the floor and installed her sideway on his lap. Sansa yelped in surprise, her heart racing into her chest.

"Mmm, that's good," Sandor Clegane breathed as he pushed her smallclothes from her legs. Ever the good girl, Sansa helped him by kicking them away when they reached her ankles and the man grunted approvingly.

Then, with a hand curled over her shoulder, he pulled her down until her back was tilted enough for her head to fall backward and held her in place like that. In that new position, Sansa's body was entirely offered to him and at the thought, she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling herself blush madly from her brow to the tip of her toes. His manhood was already hard; she could feel it point against the side of her bottom, at once stiff and demanding.

In no time, the Hound's large hand began caressing her, going from the side of her thigh before shortly ending on her breasts. Sansa had always known men loved that part of a woman's body and Sandor Clegane was certainly no exception. He was pretty much obsessed with hers as she had learned yesterday and was now fondling them in his palm and lightly pinching their nipples with calloused fingers. Arching her back, the girl let him explore her as much as he wished all the while trying not to think too much of her current situation. Her efforts were vain though, for every few seconds, the fact that she was naked in the Hound's arms hit her anew like a ton of bricks._ How did it ever come to this?_ Sansa wondered, feeling lost and dizzy.

"Gods, little bird, you're beautiful," the Hound breathed suddenly, his voice low and ragged. With that, he raised his palm to her face and cupped her cheek. His long and thick fingers digging into her hair, his thumb went just under her chin as he lifted her head until it was not hanging backward anymore. "So bloody beautiful."

Intuitively, Sansa opened her eyes, her gaze instantly locking with his. The man's stare was stronger than anyone's she had ever met and while to have it bore into hers intimidated her and tightened the knot in her tummy even more, she didn't look away.

"You're a fucking goddess, girl. Believe my bloody words," he said, caressing her bottom lip with his thumb. "I've lived at court for more than a decade and never saw a woman that could truly compete with you."

_Really_? Sansa wondered, taken aback by his confession. It was not like him to be so expressive and compliment her like that. To have him speak such words to her and regard her face with eyes so intent they seemed almost passionate in some twisted way woke a weird fluttering in her belly. Ever since this had all began, she had been under the impression that she was no more than an easy and convenient prey for him and therefore, to hear him tell her how beautiful she was made her feel…_ good_?

_No! There's no sense in this! Why should I care about what he thinks?_ But she did. She wanted to be beautiful and had always hoped she would be the most precious thing to her husband while he claimed his marital right on her. The Hound was not her husband – nor would he ever be - but he was nonetheless acting as such and as thus, it felt good to know that at least, he truly appreciated her beauty. It seemed less like a waste, somehow. _But it's absurd,_ Sansa mused, disgusted with herself for being weak even where her feelings were concerned. She shut her eyes, unwilling to look at Sandor Clegane anymore and as she did, the man pressed his lips to hers and kissed her.

As it had when he did yesterday, the sensation of his lips on hers was so very strange. The man's mouth tasted strongly of wine and his stubble was scratching her but unlike the previous one, this kiss was unexpectedly soft and gentle. With her eyes closed, Sansa could almost pretend they were not a victim and her assailant but two different persons. A man and a maid that had meaning to each other. The illusion was utterly comforting, so much so that for a split second, the girl forgot herself and began moving her lips and tongue ever so slightly with his. Just as she did though, Sandor Clegane removed his hand from her cheek and brought it between her thighs to stroke her there, reminding her of whom she was truly being kissed by.

Without more prelude, the man entered her with a finger and as Sansa gasped, he plunged his tongue deeper into her mouth. Unwittingly, she sucked at it, which made him groan and prompted him to grow more voracious with his mouth. With the pad of his thumb, he started stroking that small nub of flesh he had yesterday and Sansa stirred in his clutches at the curious, sharp sensation it triggered, both her hands griping themselves after his tunic.

"Oh, yes… You love that, don't you, little bird?" he muttered throatily.

Sansa wasn't sure she 'loved it' but it wasn't painful either and so she didn't utter a word to contradict him and didn't stop herself from moaning when the urge came, knowing that was what Sandor Clegane expected from her. The sound encouraged him and he spat on his fingers before resuming his ministrations and engulfing one of her nipples in his mouth. Sansa stiffened as he added a second finger into her. She was still sore, very much so after those two times he had ravished her and her day of horseback ridding, nevertheless two fingers were still smaller than his shaft and she thus got used to it after a few comings and goings.

The man's thumb was tracing small circles over her nub and his fingers repetitively penetrating her. These stimulations, added to his mouth grazing and licking at her breasts, were getting too much for Sansa and she shortly started feeling light-headed and overwhelmed. In reaction, she moaned and sighed, her frame shifting helplessly against Sandor Clegane's rock-hard torso.

"_Gods_, little bird…" the Hound mumbled, something akin to amazement in his husky voice.

His fingers were brushing against her with growing haste and his muscles were clenching and unclenching under her. Sansa could tell he was getting quite aroused by the way he was rocking his hips. With the same hand he used to invade and stroke her, he was pushing her down against his erection and rubbing it with her behind. It was quickly becoming uncomfortable for Sansa but apart from whimpering louder and squirming a bit more, she wasn't sure how to make him understand she wanted him to slow down and be gentler. And would he even care anyway?

Just as Sansa was about to panic, the man left both her breasts and her lady's part. "That's enough," he stated, sounding exhausted already.

Keeping her against him with a hand under her bottom, Sandor Clegane brusquely rose to his feet. The unexpected movement made Sansa squeak and since she feared to fall to the ground, she snaked her arms around his neck, holding tightly unto him. She could smell his sweat, strong and musky, and the roughspun of his tunic was scratchy against the smooth skin of her face but she was passed caring and leaned her head against his shoulder anyway. That way, she felt secured at least.

The Hound carried her like that a few steps before bending down and laying her over the bedroll nearest to the fire. "It's not cold here?" he asked.

"No," Sansa answered truthfully, her eyes lowered.

"We'll take those off then," he said, pushing her stockings down. Here again, Sansa helped him, grabbing them and finishing the job for him.

As she did, the man picked another log from the pile he had built earlier and tossed it in the fire. "This'll keep you even warmer. I won't risk you catching a cold."

After having very briefly poked the fire with a long stick, he sat back on his log, Sansa watching as he hastily unlaced his boots. When he was done, he rose, removed his tunic and then, his breeches and smallclothes until everything was lying on the ground around him.

_Oh gods…_ Sansa thought, her breath catching in her throat. While she had felt his member prod at her through his breeches and invade her in the most intimate fashion possible, she had never seen it before. Now that Sandor Clegane was unashamedly standing as naked as on his name day before her, she could see _everything_.

His manhood was an imposing and scary thing, cutting the air straight before him like a weapon ready to be wielded and the idea that she was the battlefield he intended to conquer was chilling. The girl barely remembered how their first time had gone, her memory of it was extremely foggy, and when he had taken her yesterday night, he had been naught but a dark, towering shadow looming over her and constraining her to the ground. There was no darkness to obstruct the truth now. She could behold him exactly as he was: so overwhelmingly tall and brawny to the point that he didn't even seem human to her - especially with those terrifying scars that marred half of his face. That a man like him could have imposed himself on her and appropriated her body as if he was entitled to it was still an abstract concept to Sansa. It all seemed very unreal.

"Little bird…" the Hound murmured. Seizing his member in a massive fist and tugging at it, he lowered his heavy build on a knee by her side. "You know what I want, don't you?" As he spoke, he spread her legs and installed himself in-between.

She did indeed and so Sansa didn't resist and let him take his place. While having his fingers dig into her just moments before had not hurt so much, she knew things would be different with his manhood and the idea of once more having to accommodate something so long and thick made her anxious – especially now that she had glimpsed it.

"My lord, be… be…"

"_My lord_," the Hound scoffed. Licking his fingers, he dipped them deeply into her cleft. "I told you I was no buggering lord before but you never listened. Will you at last stop being so bloody formal with me now that I'm fucking you?"

Sansa was speechless. "I… I…"

"Come on now. I don't deserve your pretty words, won't you agree? I'm no better than a street dog. Call me by my name and that'll be enough. _Sandor_. Can you say that?"

Sansa shut her eyes, sensing the head of his member taking place at her entrance.

"Come to think of it, I'd even like to hear you say it while I take you. Will you do that for me, little bird?"

His shaft was making its way into her in short, little stabs, reviving the dull pain she had carried with her all day. "Ah!" she complained softly.

"Go on, little bird. Why don't you?" Sandor Clegane insisted.

To use his first name seemed terribly intimate, yet perhaps it was better she did as he asked. There was indeed no sense in being formal with someone that had chosen to ignore all proprieties. "Sandor…" the girl whimpered as he filled her completely.

"That's right," the man said with feverish satisfaction.

Folding his upper arms against the ground just under Sansa's head, he brought his mouth to hers to kiss and nibble hungrily at her lips. His torso was pressed flush against hers, warm and heavy, and he was unhurriedly moving his hardened manhood in and out of her. Although it did burn, the girl was relieved to see it was not as bad as yesterday. Mayhap the Hound was right and she would get used to it.

One of his hands left its place on the floor behind Sansa's head and went trailing down her side. When it reached her thigh, Sandor Clegane lifted it to spread her legs wider apart. Bracing his back, he thrust himself more profoundly inside of her, cursing under his breath as his groin touched her mound. The girl saw stars at the impact - letting out a lament as he reiterated, this time a little faster. She could tell the man wouldn't retain his relative calm much longer and since she knew how swiftly the change to feral could occur, she didn't wait any longer and immediately clutched her hands over his steel-solid shoulders and closed her thighs against his hip.

The Hound apparently appreciated her gesture, for he growled in contentment. "_Yes_, that's it, girl. Wrap those little arms of yours around me. I intend to fuck you hard," he hissed, slightly out of breath.

Lowering his face to her neck, he bitted and licked her there. Then, he began grinding his pelvis against hers with increased speed and strength, his muscular thighs pushing onto the back of her raided up ones and spreading them more apart with each of his shoves. His broad chest was brushing against the sensitive skin of her breasts, its rough hair teasing her nipples and rendering them even more stiff and pointy. The man raised the hand he had around her thigh to seize one between his fingers and Sansa groaned as he pinched it, her nails digging into his thick skin.

Sandor Clegane's manhood was massive between her legs and his movement in her restless but by following his cadence and holding onto him, Sansa's pain was certainly tolerable. While her walls ached, something deep inside of her was also being stimulated with the friction and causing that odd but now familiar pressure in her loins to arise once more. She was reluctant to admit it to herself but that specific sensation wasn't so terrible. It gave her something other than her discomfort to focus on at least and permitted her to forget herself and the whole world around her for as long as she kept her eyes shut.

Her moment of oblivion didn't last very long. Soon, the man halted his pounding and propped himself on his hands. Sansa gazed up at him, nervous to see what he now had in mind. With eyes wild and burning, the Hound was staring back at her all the while catching his breath, his swollen member still sheathed in her stretched out insides. Sweat was beading all over his body, some of which had pervaded her skin, the girl noticed as a light breeze blew over her, giving her gooseflesh.

"Get on all four," he bid her, withdrawing his manhood from her folds.

Sansa wasn't sure she understood but she did as Sandor Clegane demanded and let him turn her around. With his hands around her waist, he immediately yanked her nearer until she was on her hand and knees just before him._ He means to take me like a beast,_ she realised, a wave of embarrassment flowing over her.

But the Hound didn't enter her at once. No instead, he backed away slightly to look at her bottom and knead it firmly with his hands. One of his thumbs went tracing lightly over the crack in-between its cheeks which made Sansa's eyes grow wide. To be in that posture was already humiliating enough but to be touched _there_… the girl was blushing so furiously, her cheeks burned like wildfire.

Thankfully, Sandor Clegane quickly stopped and clasped a hand around her waist, the other placing the head of his manhood at her entrance. His tick member plunged into her without any more delay, eliciting a gasp from her.

"Mmm, _oh yes_," the Hound was murmuring.

Steadily, he pulled his entire length out of her before letting it slid back into her cleft just as soon. Again and again, he repeated the motion, Sansa gasping each and every time. The sensation was so acute in that position; she wasn't sure if it was a good or a bad thing. _Not so bad,_ she thought, shame instantly overtaking her. She was not supposed to enjoy this, not even slightly.

"Tell me how I feel," the Hound inquired suddenly.

Uncertain of what he meant, Sansa stayed silent.

"_Tell me_," he repeated, his finger digging painfully into her hips. As he spoke, he rocked his hips forward with more force than previously and Sansa winced at the pang the gesture sent through her lower belly.

Still unsure what to say but aware Sandor Clegane was getting impatient, she went for the obvious. "Big." The word came out strangled.

"Mmm, what else?" he asked, while slowly drawing out of her.

"Hard."

"I am indeed," he agreed with some measure of pride. "_And as never before_." Then, punctuating his words with a few meaningful thrusts, he added: "You're going to get this big, hard cock every single night until we arrive to that bloody castle of yours."

_Every single night_, Sansa thought as Sandor Clegane's movement in her became faster. She had known it already, it had been an evidence - especially since he had taken her that second time. Yet, to hear it aloud was something else. _It's all right. I'm used to it already and the journey won't last forever_, she reasoned_. _When she got to Winterfell, she could forget all about it and pretend it had never happened. Once the Hound would no longer be around, she'd be free to resume being the innocent maiden she had been before they left King's Landing and everything would become as it was meant to be again.

For the time being though, the fact that she was being vigorously mounted by the Hound could not possibly be ignored. In a way, it was appropriate that he took her like that. He was a dog after all, or so he liked to claim himself to be._ If he's a dog, then it means he takes me for… for his bitch, _she realised, the horror the idea woke in her not as pure as she'd have wished. The friction of his manhood as he tirelessly impaled her and the weird warmth which was pooling in her lower belly were tainting her judgment and confusing her too much for her to think straight.

"Fuck…" Sandor Clegane whispered roughly, his balls rhythmically hitting her with each of his comings and going.

His claiming of her was growing more frantic, to the point that Sansa was starting to experience that same pain in her womb she did whenever he lost his control completely. She knew it meant he would soon be done with her.

Shutting her eyes, the girl tensed against his assault but there was no way she pushed him away with her back to him and thus, she endured as much as she could all the while letting out a series of small cries. With every impact, her whole frame shook - her head bobbing and teeth rattling – and after a few heartbeats of that, she propped her upper arms down on the bedroll and leaned her brow over them in hope to anchor herself to the ground. Tears were welling in her eyes by the time the Hound finally halted. With his hands locked solidly around her waist, he shoved himself to the hilt and uttered a long, guttural growl. He stayed motionless then, keeping her flush against him for an instant, before resuming pumping his pulsing manhood into her.

After a few additional slower thrusts, Sandor Clegane exhaled loudly and stopped for good. He trailed his large hands over Sansa's sides and back and gave her a small slap on the bottom.

"Damn you, girl. You've sucked the strength out of me…" he muttered drowsily while withdrawing his shaft from her. "Need some rest now…" With that, he let himself fall heavily on his back by her side.

Both of them laid on the bedroll side by side for a couple of minutes, panting just as much. The juncture of Sansa's thighs was sticky with the man's fluid and while her folds were throbbing and irritated, she could also feel the remnant of something else lingering there. The idea made her even more uneasy than her nakedness and she abruptly stood up, eager to find something to busy her mind with.

The Hound raised himself on his elbow and watched her through heavy lidded eyes. "There's a creek that way if you want to clean up," he said, nodding lazily to his left.

"Thank you," Sansa whispered more out of habit than genuine gratefulness.

Bowing down, she picked her shift from the ground and pulled it over her body before hurrying in the creek's direction. As she strode from the heat of the fire, she realised how cold it truly was. The forest's soil was moist and cool against her bare feet and her limbs were shivering but she didn't care and kept on going.

The girl had only made a few steps that Sandor Clegane's seed had already dripped down to the middle of her thighs and when she arrived at the creek, it had reached her just below the knee on one side. _How messy,_ she mused while crouching by the banks. After having bunched her skirt around her waist, she spread her legs and splashed some freezing water over her folds and the inside of her thighs with her joined hands. She was attempting to rinse all traces of the man's semen away when an image of her Lady Mother and brother Robb gazing down at her from some higher ground flashed in her mind. The notion that her family could somehow see her as she performed such a disgraceful task made her heart skip a beat – no matter how irrational it was. In a sudden state of distress, Sansa paused in her action, the weight of her shame crushing her completely.

"It's not my fault!" she pleaded aloud, her voice breaking on the last word.

Her face contracting as if she was about to cry, she lowered her gaze to unseeingly stare at her spread out thighs. _What if they don't believe me? Or worse, simply don't care how it happened and judge me for it anyway?_ She couldn't bear to behold her Lady Mother and bother's disappointed expressions. To see herself depreciated in the eyes of those she loved most would be even worse than the actual loss of her maidenhead.

_But they'll never learn_, Sansa reminded herself while biting hard at her lip and trying to steady her breathing. She would die before she confided her secret and the Hound would certainly not tell anyone either. She was worrying for nothing.

Regardless of how true this all was, the girl was still not soothed. She was beyond exhausted from having been so nervous all day and she could sense her body was on the verge of breaking down. She lifted both her hands to her face in a will to hide it from the harshness of the world and lost it. Her body shaking, she uttered a small lament and started sobbing for real.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hi everyone! Sorry for the super long delay but RL got in the way, as always! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter nevertheless. If you do, please don't be shy to share your thoughts with me! :)_

ETA: Once more, a giant THANK YOU to Kimberlite8 for her help betaing this chapter! :D :D :D

* * *

For the following week or so, Sansa and the Hound travelled through similar desolated landscape they had previously. Their progress was extremely arduous and made difficult mostly by the rain that kept falling over the forest. While it was never heavy, it was almost continuous and transformed the earth of the road into a deep and thick mud. The horses couldn't be pushed too hard in such conditions, lest they risked injuring one of them and thus, they were forced to travel at a maddeningly slow pace.

As if that wasn't enough, the weather rendered their cloaks and most of their clothes wet or at least, dank at all time. Whenever there was a respite in the drizzle and the clouds became thin enough to let some sunbeams pass through, Sandor Clegane always called a halt no matter how early it was, so that they could empty their saddlebags and spread their contents under the sunlight. It was important that they did so if they wished to avoid the rot taking hold into their food and clothes. If it was past noon when they stopped, they made camp right away - after all, they couldn't turn their noses on a chance to dry some wood and tinder under the sun and have a campfire that would last them until dawn for a change.

Yet most nights, no true fire was possible and Sansa and the Hound had to sleep close-by under pine trees whose thick branches protected them from the rain. Despite the cold and their general discomfort, the man took her every single day, sometimes more than once. He had been right though. It didn't hurt anymore, apart from when he first entered her or became more agitated just before he spilled himself in her. Still in both cases, the pain was only momentary and nothing Sansa couldn't endure. Besides, their new intimacy did have its advantage for they now always shared blankets and furs and the girl was glad of the warmth Sandor Clegane offered her given how freezing the air became once darkness was complete. Whenever he felt her shiver against him at night, the man wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her body with his large hands until she was soothed enough to fall asleep. Sansa was grateful for that at least.

* * *

"Little bird, there's a village nearby," the Hound announced as they rode one rainy afternoon.

"Really?" Sansa squeaked, jerking her head his way.

"Look ahead of you, girl. See the smoke columns?" The man pointed a finger at the grey lines which lazily rose over the canopy ahead. "These are no campfires or burning houses, trust me. Especially not in this buggering weather."

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the gods," she let out disbelievingly.

"You've no bloody gods to thank. The village was always there and _I_ got us there. Thank me if you feel the need to be grateful." He laughed, his voice as sharp as the sword he had sheathed at his hip. "If my reckoning's right, it's Lord Harroway's Town. We'll find an inn there. Or if not, at least a shelter."

That was good enough. "Thank _you_ then," the girl said softly.

The Hound snorted. "We're almost there. You'll thank me later tonight," he said, glancing slyly at her.

Then, he kicked his stallion with his heels to urge him as fast as was safe on the muddy road and they both headed to the village.

It was the first village they had come across in a long time that was not burned down and abandoned. When they arrived and Sansa saw the clearly inhabited little stone houses with fires burning in their hearths and livestock walking about in some of the yards, she almost cried tears of joy. There was even an inn, intact from the war and ready to receive them. The innkeeper was glad for customers for travellers were still rare despite the new peace and he immediately called for a boy to take care of their horses.

"How many rooms will you be needing?" he asked amicably.

"Two," Sandor Clegane replied while tossing a few coins on the counter. "And a bath in both rooms."

While they waited for their chambers to be ready, Sansa and the Hound sat by the common room's large hearth. Both of them were soaked to the bone and the heat of the fire was more than welcomed.

"Bring us something warm to eat and some wine, if you have any," Sandor Clegane demanded to a middle-aged woman that was probably the innkeeper's wife.

He had removed his sodden cloak and the sight of his unconcealed burns glistening with rainwater and wet, black hair plastered to his face and scalp seemed to frighten the woman. Nodding nervously, she hurriedly went away before coming back with everything only a few minutes later.

"Mmm," Sansa murmured as she ate her stew, too content to care how unladylike she sounded.

"It was a long time coming, wasn't it, little bird?" the Hound rasped. He had already finished two bowls of the stuff and was watching her with a smirk on his lips from his place at the other side of the table while chewing on a piece of bread.

Sansa swallowed her last spoonful of stew and agreed. "Yes, indeed," she admitted while timidly meeting his gaze.

"Here, take some wine now," he bid her, bending over the table to push a full tankard just in front of her. "It'll do you some good. Kill off any cold you might have caught before it has a chance to start."

Sansa obeyed, knowing he was probably right. The wine tasted awful though and the Hound sniggered at seeing her grimace after her first sip. Yet in spite of how bitter it was, the girl managed to drink it all in only a few minutes and afterwards, she felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Come on now. Let's go and see what those rooms we paid for look like," the Hound prompted, rising to his feet.

Curious also, Sansa stood up at once, yet as soon as she did, she realised the wine had gotten to her head a little more than she'd thought and almost lost her balance.

"Careful, little bird," Sandor Clegane told her while catching her by the upper arm. His teeth were bared in a wolfish grin but he didn't comment further and headed to the stairs once he was certain she was stable on her feet.

A smile creeping on her lips, Sansa strode after him. _A room and a bed_, she thought happily.

When they got upstairs and opened the first door, the girl brought both her hands to her mouth and let out a small cry of joy at seeing the bed she would sleep in. The room was modest and simple and the mattress was filled with straw but that was good enough for her at this point. A fire had been lit in the fireplace and a steaming bath was already waiting for her.

Sansa walked to it and gazed down longingly at the clear water. "Oh! I barely can believe I'll soon be clean again," she whispered.

"Hum," the Hound grunted. There was a small and old-looking mirror on the wall and he was studying his refection in it with a critical air about him. "I need to shave, do I?" Running a hand over the long stubble that covered his unburned cheek, he barked a short, dry laugh and turned around to face Sansa. "I'm on it. Clean up and I'll do the same. And don't forget: you don't open to anyone but me," he said, pointing a finger at his chest. When Sansa nodded, he put his back to her and exited the room.

_Oh gods, a bath_, the girl thought as she barred the door behind him. A moment later, she was immersing her nude body into the hot water with a cry of delight. She had forgotten how good it could be to feel so warm. After having scrubbed her skin pink, she decided to relax in the bathtub just a little longer but with her belly full and the wine she had drunk, she soon dozed off without realising it. At some point though, a knock on the door woke her to reality.

"Little bird?" the Hound's voice was asking.

At first, she was confused and even wondered where she was. "Yes?" she replied drowsily as memory came back to her.

"Open."

Shaking herself, Sansa stood out of the bathtub and wrapped the towel that waited on a chair nearby around her body. "I'm coming," she said, walking to the threshold.

She opened and the man immediately entered, locking the door behind him just as soon. Then, he walked across the room, inspecting it all the while drinking from his wineskin.

"Cozy isn't it? Or at least, a whole lot more than the fucking forest floor." As he spoke, Sandor Clegane settled his wineskin on the small table that flanked the bed and stretched his tall frame, his hands easily reaching the ceiling. "I think I'd take a little nap now," he added before comfortably installing himself on his back over the bed with his arms folded behind his head.

Sansa bit at her lip. Until then, she had hoped the fact that they were in civilised country and especially, since he had asked for two rooms meant he would keep his distance from her but now, she wasn't so sure.

The Hound guessed her thought. "The other room will come to waste. I took it just to save your reputation in case anyone is taking note."

It came as no surprise in truth and so Sansa only nodded stiffly.

"Come over here," he told her, lifting an arm before him and gesturing for her to approach. "I'm sure you're getting cold, standing there all wet in that little towel."

Sansa sighed. She would never get rid of this. Not until they reached Winterfell. _It's all right._ _I don't mind it anymore,_ she reminded herself. Letting the towel fall to the floor, she walked naked to the bed. As soon as she got near enough, the Hound pulled her over him and began caressing her body all over.

"Take me in your hand, little bird," he rasped in her ear.

It was not the first time he made her such a request and while the idea of it still brought a deep blush to her cheeks, the girl unlaced his breeches and freed his hardened member just the same. Sandor Clegane groaned in satisfaction as she started moving her fist along his length exactly as he had taught her, his touch on her growing more insistent and his fingers finding their way to her cleft. Soon though, he was pushing her from him and rising to hastily undress himself.

"Put it in," he instructed her once he was lying on his back again. "I want you to ride me."

Holding his erection upward in a large fist, he directed her over him with his other hand around her waist. His shaft slid into her in a few quick trusts and once Sansa was accustomed enough to the intrusion, she began timidly moving her hips against his. As always in that position, the Hound was being lazy and let her do most of the work. Instead, he trailed his hands over her curves and cupped her breast in his palms. Sansa kept her head thrown back and her eyes shut. She didn't like being the one on top, it made her feel so awkward and exposed, and thereby when the Hound finally had enough and flipped her on her back, she was secretly relieved.

Without delay, he plunged his swollen manhood into her again. "Feel how hard my cock's for you, girl? _Huh_?" he asked, the question sounding like a threat.

"Yes," she replied a little breathlessly. She did indeed. There was obviously no way she ignored it, nevertheless the man liked to remind her of how aroused he was as he claimed her. He did it often and Sansa assumed it added to his pleasure.

Holding her arms against the straw mattress, Sandor Clegane was mounting her as vigorously as a beast. With her body constrained under his, the girl was completely helpless and had absolutely no choice but to submit to his lust and at the awareness, she relaxed faintly and moaned. Sansa had realised throughout the prior week that if the Hound was to take her, she preferred that he pinned her to the ground and possessed her in the most dominating and savage manner possible. At least that way, she was not truly participating and there was no mistaking she was a victim, unlike when he asked her to do things to him. When she was straddling him or pleasured him with her hands as she had both done just before, it gave her a false impression that she had control over the situation and she disliked the illusion very much since being in control implied she was consenting and serviced him of her own free will. At least when he seized her wrists firmly enough to leave bruises and brutally pushed her under him, the fact that he was forcing himself on her was as clear as the day. She didn't have to feel guilty about what was being done to her then – it was not her fault after all – and only with that knowledge could she truly abandon herself.

_But why would I want to abandon myself with him?_ The question was there, unanswered and troubling and yet, there was no denying that was what she so as Sandor Clegane restlessly pounded himself into her, Sansa sighed and whimpered at the odd but pleasurable sensation which was arising from between her legs. A distant part of her knew she would regret her lack of restraint later on but she was passed caring at the time being. The bed was creaking noisily under her and the man, grunting like an animal. It was easy to forget herself in the mist of all that racket and action – it even seemed logical – however after a few minutes of that, the Hound's release came on him and he poured all his desire into her. Cursing under his breath, he collapsed onto the bed by her side and once the room became quiet and peaceful again, all Sansa was left with was the heavy silence and the now all too familiar bitter aftertaste of shame.

* * *

The sound of the heavy rain was what woke Sansa on the next morning. The Hound was still by her side but he was not sleeping either anymore. She could hear him grunt and yawn and soon, he sat up on the side of the bed, the mattress bending under him.

"What the fuck is that?" he grumbled, standing up.

Sansa was lying on her stomach and as Sandor Clegane walked to the window, she rounded her back and stretched her arms, growing aware of her nakedness as she did. She did not remember falling asleep but she had been so exhausted yesterday afternoon that it was not really surprising that she'd have slumbered until now without realising it. The Hound had probably woken up sometime during the evening and installed her under the blankets. The idea of having shared a bed with a man, both of them completely nude, made her uneasy somehow. It seemed utterly intimate and was another milestone she wouldn't have to share with her future lord husband. _It doesn't matter, it's just a detail, _Sansa mused, pressing her lips into a thin line. It wasn't like it changed anything at this point anyway.

When he got to the window, the Hound pushed the curtains open and looked outside. "Seven Hells… It's the end of the world out there. Seen that, little bird?"

Sansa rolled on her back and propped herself up to see. The glass window was completely covered with running water and she could barely discern anything from outside. It was no light drizzle anymore. Her face grown long, she stayed silent all the while trying to picture how horrific this promised to be. _I'm a Stark of Winterfell. I can do it, _she tried to convince herself without much success.

After a moment of staring at the pouring rain, Sandor Clegane turned away and strolled to the chamber pot to relieve himself. Wincing, Sansa averted her eyes from him and let herself fall back onto the bed. _Why can't he go to our other wasted room to do this?_ she wondered, a frown creasing her brow, as the sound of his water echoed into the pot.

"I don't know about you but I'm not too eager to face that buggering weather," the man started once he was done. "There's no sense in us going out in this rain. Perhaps we should stay here until it gets better."

_To stay here?_ Sansa repeated inwardly, her eyes growing wide. Her irritation all but forgotten, she rose on her elbow again and gazed at the Hound. She was quite taken aback by his proposition but at seeing his expression, she could tell he was not jesting.

Sansa wasn't sure what to think. She badly wanted to get to Winterfell and resented the idea of staying in this faraway village a moment longer. At the same time, that rain terrified her. It was worse than anything they had known so far. And besides, the bed she was in was incredibly warm and comfy. And she was so very tired. She had not slept a full night since they had left King's Landing before yesterday and she could feel she still needed more rest. Being lazy was tempting, all too tempting, yet she had been raised too well to forget her duty to her family. She _had_ to object.

"What do you say, little bird?" the Hound inquired from his place by the chamber pot. "We wait for the end of the rain in here. We could get all of our clothes cleaned. I know all I have stinks by now and badly needs washing. Wouldn't it be nice?"

"Yes, it would. But I don't know if…" Sansa trailed off as she saw the man's expression darken.

"_If what_?" he demanded in a calm but dry voice, taking a step toward her. He had obviously not expected her to hesitate and was not pleased by it. "The rain won't last forever, Sansa. We'll be on our way soon enough."

Sandor Clegane had lately taken to call her by her name. He didn't do it often though, only when he was being serious and wanted to convince her of something, like now. Herself, she did call him 'Sandor' sometimes too, although she avoided doing so as much as she could and only used his name when she absolutely needed to grab his attention and saw no other way.

"Waiting is the wisest thing for us to do," the Hound asserted, his mouth twitching just once.

From her place on the bed, Sansa watched as he approached her, naked under the wan morning light. His manhood was at rest at the moment but Sansa had lately learned how quickly that could change. The man still scared her despite everything they had done and the stony expression he was sporting at the moment was not helping in the least. To behold his muscular and hairy body tower over her by the side of the bed was so very intimidating. Everything about him was steel-hard and imposing and reminded her of her physical inferiority.

"So? What will it be, Sansa?"

"We'll wait," she heard herself reply meekly.

"Clever girl," the man rasped, lowering himself over her.

As she had predicted, he became hard in no time and took her again as fiercely as ever. As he filled her with his shaft and stroked her everywhere, Sansa told herself it was probably indeed better they waited here a day or two longer. As much as she feared the downpour, she was now also apprehensive of facing her family. She was not the maiden they expected anymore and she dreaded most of all that they guessed it from the moment they saw her. She needed time to prepare herself for when she'd be reunited with them to be certain she'd be able to lie convincingly and an additional couple of days surely wouldn't hurt.

When Sandor Clegane was done with her, he snaked an arm around her and fell asleep. There was no way Sansa freed herself from his hold and since unconsciousness couldn't come to her as efficiently as it had him, she snuggled herself against him. It was not that she liked the Hound or wanted that proximity but he was a warm and solid presence and she badly needed something steady to lean on. He was that at least. Thus, she circled her arms around him and took whatever comfort she could from him. Her head propped against the side of his chest, she listened to his strong heartbeat and distractedly let her hands trail over his brawny torso and arms. He was a very powerful man with arms bigger than her thighs and with her fingers and palm, she traced the width of his biceps in a mix of awe and anguish.

_I've no chance against him,_ she reflected. Yet, just as the idea propelled her deeper into despair, she could also feel warmth pool down her lower belly.

_There's no sense in any of this. I'm losing my mind_, Sansa thought, sad and frustrated at once. Squeezing her eyes shut, she emptied her mind of any thought and soon, she had fallen asleep nestled against the Hound.

* * *

Sansa and Sandor Clegane spent the following night at the inn but when they woke up on the next dawn, the weather was still as horrible. It was thus decided that they stayed another day, however with each new morning that came, the rain never faltered and they kept delaying their departure. In the meantime, Sansa tried to keep herself busy by mending some of her clothes and even started working on a new piece of embroidery. The Hound left her alone a few hours each afternoon to take care of the horses and do whatever other business he had to but he was never gone for very long. And of course, he took her everyday at least twice, sometimes hours at a time. At one point, Sansa genuinely started to wonder if the weather would never improve and she would spend the rest of her life locked in this little room, yet after about a week of that, the rain stopped at last and they prepared to leave.

* * *

"It's freezing," the Hound said as he brought their mount out of the stables.

Sansa was not about to disagree. Waiting just outside, she was shivering all over and steam came out of her mouth anytime she breathed.

With the extreme cold of the previous night, the shapeless and deformed muddy earth of the floor had become as solid as rock and the puddles of water that covered it turned to ice. They would need to be even more careful than before as they progressed, for the horses would have a hard time staying stable over such uneven grounds.

"This won't do, little bird. I'm starting to have a bad feeling about this," Sandor Clegane grumbled. Circling Sansa's waist with large gloved hands, he lifted her from the ground and installed her over her mare. "We've reached freezing point tonight. It's still early and I'm sure the ice will have melted in a couple of hours but it's still not a good sign."

From her place on her mare, Sansa was watching him in grim silence, unsure where he was going with this.

The Hound seemed in no better mood. A scowl on his face, he swung himself on his saddle and they headed toward the road. After a few minutes, he turned his gaze on Sansa again. "I don't think crossing the Neck in this weather is a good idea. From what I remember, there's no inn over there - not much anything else either." He paused then, seemingly pondering over something. "We'll take a ship to White Harbour instead. Much safer. Don't want to risk you catching a cold on our way and die before I have a chance to bring you back to your family."

Sansa's heart skipped a beat. "A ship? But from where?"

"Saltpans. It's not far from here, don't worry. We just have to switch paths once we reach the next crossroad and we should be there in a few of days."

_To take a ship_…? It surely seemed more comfortable than travelling on horseback in this weather but Sansa was still extremely confused by the abrupt change of plan. "I… I don't understand. Why… why not take one from King's Landing in the first place then?"

"I didn't plan for this to take so long. Didn't plan for this bloody weather either. I won't lie to you: I have no love for ships. I've taken a couple in the past and I can't stand staying idle with nothing to do at all for weeks at a time and no place to train. I'd rather be on horseback and live the hard life. Yet now it's not just me, there's you also I need to think of. I wouldn't be surprised if there was already snow in the Neck. Tell me, little bird: does the idea of sleeping in the open during a snowstorm in that buggering swampland enchant you?"

At first, Sansa thought the question was only rhetorical but then she realised he was watching her through narrowed eyes and waiting for her answer.

"No, of course not," she admitted quietly.

"Then why aren't you thanking me for that change of plan?" he reproached, glaring at her.

"Well… thank you. It's just that… _I'm surprised_. I wasn't expecting it but… I guess you're right and this is a better idea."

Sandor Clegane snorted with something like irritation. "You bet I am. Now come. I hope to be at Saltpans before the weather has a chance to get worse so we need hurry now."

Sansa nodded and taking a deep, uneasy breath, she followed him toward their new destination.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi everyone! Sorry for the super long wait but I've been so busy this summer. If everything goes according to plan though, next chapter should be updated far more swiftly. In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. If you do, please don't hesitate to leave me a little review! :)_

* * *

_Once more, this chapter is dedicated to Kimberlite! Thank you so much for your help! :D_

"Ships don't come over here anymore, Ser. Didn't you know? It's the incoming winter: the sailors fear the bay might freeze at any moment now and none have been ready to risk their vessel this far for almost a moon."

"Humph," Sandor grunted gruffly, glaring down at the little fishmonger. It wasn't the peasant's fault if he had no good news to give him though and thus Sandor forced himself to stay civil. "So what do you suggest I do?"

"You could go a little farther east to Maidenpool. They'll still be ships passing by the town's port, of that I'm certain, Ser. The bay's larger over there after all," he answered in a polite but nervous voice.

"Of course," Sandor grumbled. "Thanks anyway," he added as an afterthought.

Turning his back to the port, Sandor walked away, the little bird hurryingly following him. They were both on foot and holding the reins of their horses in hands.

"Are we really going to go to Maidenpool?" she asked once they were out of the fishmonger's earshot.

Sandor's mouth twitched. "Of course, what other choice do we have? We're not crossing the Neck - I told you already."

The girl didn't seem pleased. "But it's far, isn't it?"

"Not so far as the bloody Neck," he retorted irritably, glancing her way. "And we'll find shelters in-between at least. Don't you worry - we'll get to that buggering castle of yours yet. It'll just take a bit longer."

A grave air descending about her, the little bird kept silent and looked down, the sight instantly bringing Sandor to regret the harshness of his tone.

"We'll go to the town's inn for tonight and leave tomorrow at first light," he told her, hoping that might cheer her up. "And once you're installed in your room, I'll go out and see if I can find you some new garbs more suited for the weather so that you stop shivering all the time as you do now."

"Oh… yes, thank you," the girl replied quietly.

"Right, let's go then."

The village's inn was not far from the port and Sandor paid for two rooms. He ordered a bath for the girl and while she cleaned up, he went out as promised to look for some new clothes for both of them. He found a few items: some stockings, mittens and things of the sort but most importantly, a thick grey-white cloak made of the pelt of some local beast that was supposed to resist rain and snow alike. It was a beautiful piece of work with a dark-pink silk lining covered with delicate flower embroideries. The tailor who had made it told him it had been ordered many moons ago by some Riverlands' high lady. Sadly for her but luckily for Sandor and the little bird, she had died before war had ended and so the tailor had been stuck with the cloak ever since and kept it well hidden while waiting for wealthy enough visitors to come by. No one in Saltpans had the means to pay for something so lavish anymore and the garb was worth too much to be kept on display. From the moment the tailor took it out of its cedar chest, Sandor had known the girl would love it and he therefore did not hesitate to buy it. He was quite content when he got back and saw her face lit up as he tossed it on the bed.

"Oh! It's _beautiful_!" she exclaimed in awe, caressing the fur with delicate fingers. "It must have cost you a fortune!"

The man barked a short, rough laugh. "Indeed," he agreed. Apart from his set of armour, it was the most expensive piece of cloth he had ever purchased. Still Sandor thought it was well worth it, for it would suit her perfectly. His mouth pulling into a smirk, he lifted the cloak and installed it over the little bird's shoulders. "Here," he said while fastening the silver brooch that held the garb in place from behind her and then, pulling the hood over her head.

Turning from one side to the other, the girl was admiring herself in the large mirror on the wall, a wide grin on her lips. She was stroking the fur with her fingers and opening the cloak to appreciate the lush pink fabric inside. "Thank you so much!" she breathed happily, her eyes meeting his through their reflection in the mirror.

Sandor snorted. "Don't thank me. I owe you that much, don't you think?" he rasped, letting his gaze trail down her curves. Apart from the cloak, her little body was only covered with a thin, white shift. Was it the same one she had worn when he first took her in the hot spring? The idea was somewhat titillating.

At hearing his comment, the little bird abruptly lost her smile and blushed but apart from that, she didn't acknowledge Sandor's insinuation and only walked away from him to sit by the window with a frown on her brow.

"Humph," the man grunted, following her with his gaze. He wasn't certain if he should be amused or irked by her abrupt retreat.

_You can't blame her for being touchy: it's in the female nature, _Sandor reasoned. At least she hadn't thrown her new cloak to the floor and stepped over it but kept it well in place on her shoulders. _Chances are, she's not even truly offended,_ the man surmised while studying her from his place by the bed. Only, girls of her station were raised to be as prudish as septas and so, it was only natural that such allusions made her uncomfortable. After everything he had done to her, one would have expected that hearing him refer about their coupling would have long stopped embarrassing her but that would not have been faithful to her character knowing the little bird. It was all good though, for in truth the man enjoyed provoking her timidity. With her cheeks pink and gaze bashfully lowered, she looked the very image of innocence, a sight which ironically never failed to inspire the most lewd ideas.

_And now, looks like we'll be taking a ship from Maidenpool_, Sandor reflected, his previous smirk returning to his lips. Wasn't it appropriate, considering how she had been a maiden in _that_ pool? _No maiden anymore though. _The girl knew more about fucking than many married women by now. Sandor had seen to that. He wasn't proud of it but neither was he consumed by guilt. It wasn't like she hated it anymore anyway. She enjoyed most of what he did to her, he could tell. She was often wet, and not just a little: he'd felt it and knew the difference. He had even licked her between the legs when they stayed at that inn in Harroway's Town and she had been dripping on his face, squirming and moaning as he did. Her little cunt had tasted like the Seven Heavens and Sandor had been so fucking hard, it almost hurt. Gods, how good it had been to feel her mouth on him when she sucked his cock afterwards and then, to spend himself in the dept of her belly… the man had haft a mind to exactly repeat the experience tonight. He could order a bath to be brought to their other room and be sweet smelling and shiny for her. Yes, that would be nice.

"Stay here, little bird. I'm going to go clean up and bring up some food and wine for us afterwards. What do you say?"

"Of course," she answered a bit stiffly while briefly glancing in his direction.

The girl was working on her embroidery. A large thing that represented wolves in a forest with the blue roses of Winterfell growing in bushes all around them. _Waste of time. _But if truth be told, she had had plenty of that to spare throughout their stay in Harroway's Town. Good thing he was there to busy her a little.

Snorting at his own jape, Sandor headed for the door and exited the room, eager to prepare himself.

* * *

They left Saltpans on the next morning at first light. Although still cold, the weather was surprisingly pleasant or at least, as much as could be hoped this late into autumn. After the horrors they had known throughout the past weeks, just the fact that it was dry was remarkable. Still, the sky was grey and the clouds heavy-looking. A good thing Sandor had purchased that new cloak for the little bird. She was now ready for anything.

Although, not for what was coming.

* * *

It happened around noon that day. Sandor was quietly feeding the horses some hay when he suddenly heard a scream. There was no wondering who this was given he and the little bird were in the middle of nowhere but he would nonetheless have recognised her voice before any other. It was engraved in his brain and from the moment he heard it, he dropped the handful of hay he had been holding to the ground and darted in her direction, his heart jumping into his chest. Judging by the sound of her cry, she had apparently gotten quite far and the prospect that he might not get to her in time to rescue her from whatever danger she had came across froze his blood.

The girl and he had stopped to take a bite less than an hour before and after they had finished eating their cold meal of bread, cheese and dry meat, she had gone by herself into the forest. She was still too shy to make water in front of him regardless of how he had seen her in every fucking angle possible and liked to walk far enough that she was sure he couldn't discern her between the trees and bushes anymore. She was proper to a fault sometimes and while Sandor had never thought much of it, he was now starting to regret never having opposed her.

"Sandor!" the little bird was calling.

"Coming!" the man mumbled to himself as he ran toward her.

How stupid he had been to ever let her out of his sight. A girl like her was far too helpless to defend herself against the rabid beasts that prowled these woods, too absent-minded to notice a hidden crevice and too tempting to be allowed to wander on her own in any given circumstance. He should never have been so lax with her.

"Oh, little maiden? You have any gold for us?" a voice asked as he got nearer.

_A man_, Sandor thought with contempt though little surprise, his jaw clenching. No matter the question, he had no doubt about what whoever had found the little bird truly planned to do with her. He'd been there also.

"I have nothing on me. Please go away! I'm not alone!"

"Not alone? You seem alone enough to me but we'll keep our eyes open, thanks for warning us. And we'll take other payment than gold you know. What do you have to offer?"

The woods were thick with bushes and fallen trees were blocking the way almost everywhere in the area and so Sandor couldn't get to the little bird as fast as he'd have wished. It was quite frustrating, even though he did realise the thickness of the forest helped conceal his approach. The girl's attacker had apparently not noticed him so far which was certainly preferable.

"I have nothing at all!" he heard the girl cry, obviously panic-stricken.

"Don't play the innocent with us! You know what we want," another man insisted. "And perhaps we'll take that cloak too. Looks like it's worth at least a few dragons, perhaps more."

They were three, Sandor saw as he paused behind a large oak some distances away to take in the scene unobserved - and none represented a threat to him - he surmised with some relief. They were a sorry trio with nothing but makeshift weapons and threadbare clothes. He would kill them easily enough but a lone and feeble girl like the little bird had little chances against them and she knew it well enough. One of the buggers had her pushed against a tree and was holding her in place with a hand around her upper arm and the view sickened Sandor.

"Heard that?" the last of her attackers asked, looking behind him. "I think something's in the woods."

They all peered randomly into the forest but Sandor stayed motionless, well hidden behind the oak and none of them spotted him.

After just an instant, the man that had his hand on the little bird spoke. "Was most likely some beast. There's no one out there, the girl is lying," he stated. Judging by his tone and attitude, Sandor reckoned he was their leader. "'Must have wandered away from her party and gotten lost in the forest but they're gone now. Still, let's not take any chance and decamp from here," he said, yanking at the little bird.

She tried to free herself by squirming and pushing him away but the nearest other bugger caught her by her other arm to still her. "Stop that, you girl. Don't be any trouble and we'll be good to you."

"Sandor! SANDOR!" the little bird shouted, scanning the forest behind her.

To hear her call him in such a needy way instantly woke some sort of animalistic instinct of both protection and possession in Sandor. A part of him knew the girl had no other choice but to ask for his help since he was the only recourse she had and yet, he couldn't stop himself from being absurdly proud to hear her cry out _his_ name. More than anything else in the world at that instant, he wanted to rescue her from those buggers and be her saviour. _Stop thinking! Go now!_ he ordered himself.

In a heartbeat, he ran from behind the oak tree, sword in hand, and stabbed the nearest man through the back with his blade. The bugger gasped and let out a throaty moan as he fell on his knees and then collapsed face first onto the dirt. As he did, his two companions jerked their heads in Sandor's direction – one releasing the little bird's arm and fumbling over his shoulder with shaky fingers in a will to free the old woodcutter's axe he had strapped at his back. However, Sandor was too fast and the whoreson had not yet grabbed the weapon that he had already cut through him, chopping him nearly in half from his neck to the middle of his chest. A spray of blood splashed out of the fresh gash promptly followed by the little bird's cry of horror.

At witnessing his friend join the other to the ground, the last bugger – the one that had held the girl against a tree when he arrived - finally let go of her. She immediately used the opportunity to scurry away yet Sandor was too busy to worry about her. The bugger himself was attempting to flee. It was too late for that though, for the man violently struck him onto the side of the stomach with his blade even before he had fully turned around and as he pulled the weapon back, he slid the cold steel deeply into the flesh. Groaning, the bastard felled flat on his belly. His eyes shining with fear and disbelief both, he twisted onto himself to gaze at his wound and let out a pathetic wail at seeing the gaping gash Sandor had given him. The bugger clutched his palms over his wound in a useless effort to prevent his blood from flowing but there was no stopping the dark, red river that now covered his hands and side and ran to the floor around him.

Gut wounds were long to die from and since Sandor was not as cruel as most believed, he strolled toward the dying man until he was looming right over him and shoved the point of his blade into his heart, twisting it into the organ.

_All dead now,_ he thought with feverish satisfaction as he saw the bugger's eyes revolve into his skull. He was just about to allow himself to relax when he heard a sound over his own ragged panting.

"Aaaah…" the first of the trio he had cut through was moaning a little further away. He was still lying on his front, shifting pitifully against the floor.

His mouth twitching and eyes narrowing, Sandor walked to him. With his foot, he turned the whoreson on his back and had slashed his throat open before the later could understand what was happening.

_Three less useless excuses for men in this shitty world_, Sandor thought to himself, lowering the point of his sword to the ground. The drizzle chose that moment to resume and the noise of the droplets landing on the naked trees and dead leaves-covered ground was suddenly all he could hear. Big drops were rolling down his cheeks and neck and tendrils of his hair were getting plastered to his face but after his brief but intense effort, the freshness of the water was welcomed. Sandor lifted his face upward and closed his eyes in a will to let the rain sooth him but his peace was shortly interrupted by a gasping sound.

"Little bird, you're all right?" he asked, laying his gaze on the girl at once.

She had sat down on a dead tree - he saw - her face hidden into her hands and was weeping quietly. The large hood of her grey-white cloak was pulled over her head and her lithe shoulders were shaking with each of her silent sobs. For a short instant, Sandor worried the buggers had done more than he'd believed but he quickly took note her bodice was apparently completely closed and skirts far too smooth for that. That made him feel slightly better, although not completely.

"Are you hurt, little bird?" Sandor inquired, unable to keep the wrath he felt at the idea of what had almost happened to her from showing in his voice. "I'll kill them all over again if you are, I swear it," he promised lowly.

At hearing his statement, the girl lifted her head from her hands and glanced at him. "No, thank you… I… I'm fine."

"I came just in time, didn't I?" Sandor rasped, bowing down to wipe the blade of his sword after the cloak of the nearest man. Once it was clean enough to his taste, he sheathed it and walked to the little bird.

"You should never have ventured as far as you did. That was foolish. Don't you realise I'm all that stands between you the dangers of these bloody war-ravaged lands we're travelling through?"

As he spoke, the notion of how careless she had been finally completely hit him and his anger flared all over again. "What the fuck were you thinking, Sansa? If you don't want to take a piss in front of me, that's bloody fine, but you don't need to go to the end of the buggering world to be sure I won't take a peek at you! There are plenty of trees and bushes around and I won't spy on you by the damned Stranger! Don't you fucking worry!" he snapped at her.

The girl didn't answer. Instead, she kept her palms clamped over her face and curled into herself even more. Sandor could hear her sniffing and breathing hard and even though he was still furious, he immediately started regretting his outburst. She might have been stupid but she had learned her lesson and yelling at her would not achieve much apart from increasing her distress.

Inhaling deeply to calm himself, Sandor peered up at the canopy, stretching his neck from one side to the other before slowly exhaling. "Stop that, you're safe now," he told her afterwards, speaking a bit more softly. When she didn't reply, he sighed and seized her by the elbow to raise her to her feet. "You heard me, hmm?" he asked once she stood in front of him. With a curled forefinger under her chin, he forced her to look at him.

"Yes," the girl breathed, her pink lips barely moving.

His change of attitude apparently surprised her for as she met his stare, her mouth was opened in a small 'o'. Her eyes were red and swollen and her face wet with tears, Sandor noticed, however that lessened her beauty in no way. Nothing could in fact and to tell the truth, to see her so vulnerable was touching him in a way he had very rarely been before. Although it was not like him in the least and he had no clue on how to proceed, he was suddenly taken by an urge to comfort her.

Sliding the hand he had under her chin into her hood, he brought it behind her head and dug his fingers into her hair. His other hand travelled from her elbow to her shoulder, freezing once it got there to close stiffly around the thick grey-white fur of her cloak. For an instant, he wavered, a little unsettled to have those wide blue eyes fixed on him while in one of the rare instance of his life where he wasn't fully sure of himself but then, he almost snorted out loud at realising the absurdity of the situation. Was he intimidated _by her_ now? Shaking himself, Sandor chased the ridiculous notion from his mind and pulled her against his chest with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, he realised afterwards. The girl yelped at the impact yet no sooner had she landed against him did she lean her weight onto him, her little fists going up and gripping themselves after his cloak. With more strength than he knew she had, she clung onto him like her life depended on it, her sobs resuming all over again.

"There, little bird, there," Sandor whispered, petting her hair a bit awkwardly.

They stayed like that for a long time it seemed, the rain growing stronger and running down their backs. Every now and then, a small squeaking sound escaped the girl's mouth, muffled by the way she kept her face pressed onto his chest, even as tremors shook her frame. Still at one point, both the downpour and little bird's cries quietened.

"Let's go now. We'll find a good place to make camp," Sandor prompted, backing away to meet her eyes.

The little bird agreed and he lifted her in his arms to carry her to their horses and moments later, they were on their way.

* * *

The rain was even heavier by the time they found the small cabin. It was abandoned, Sandor realised after he had inspected it. Or at least, no one had visited it for a long time. It was the sort of little shelter meant for hunters where naught of importance was ever left but that still sufficed for any travellers passing by. Some logs and tinder had been left inside and so Sandor started a fire as soon as they entered. There was a wood pallet not far from the fireplace and after having settled their bedrolls, furs and covers over it, the little bird removed her cloak and sat over its edge.

"I'll leave you here just a moment and go see if I can find more wood," Sandor told her as he lifted his battle axe over his shoulder.

She nodded but it was obvious she didn't like the prospect of being left alone. "Please don't take too long," she murmured, gazing pleadingly at him.

The earnestness of her demand took him aback slightly. Sandor wasn't used to the little bird so clearly soliciting his presence and thus he was quite tempted to tell the firewood to go fuck itself and stay by her side, yet that wouldn't have been very wise. They would only last a few hours with what they had.

"I won't go far and keep an eye on the cabin, don't worry," he assured her. "No one's around, of that I'm certain. Still if by any chance anyone comes, just scream and I'll be there sooner than you'd believe." Turning around, he opened the door and stepped into the rain.

Throughout the next hour or so, Sandor made a few trips to the cabin, carrying all the logs and tinder he could gather. Everything was wet but it would all get a chance to dry by the fire before it needed to be used. When he was at last satisfied they had all they would require for the night, he kicked their little shelter's door open one last time and entered like a gust of wind.

"Gods, I'm so tired of being pissed over by this shit weather," he muttered. He didn't envy their horses and the puny little wooden structure they had to cover their heads. Yet, they were still lucky the woodcutters that had built this place had been kind enough to erect something for their mounts also. It was better than nothing.

Huffing and puffing from the cold, Sandor dropped the last armful of logs he had brought to the floor and shouldered the door shut while blowing hot breath into his hands. With short and rapid motions, he hurriedly unclasped his sodden cloak and hung it on a hook on the wall next to where the girl had placed her own. The rest of his garbs weren't in a much better state. He was soaked to the bone and after he had pulled his coat of mail shirt over his head, the man scowled at seeing how rusty it had gotten. He didn't remember it being so bad when he put in on this morning.

The little bird had not moved from her place over the pallet and when Sandor finally gazed at her, he noticed she was shivering in spite of the cabin being pretty comfortable by now. Frowning, he took a step toward her and looked her up and down severely. She was still fully dressed and while her cloak had protected her back and shoulders from the rain, her bodice, sleeves and the front and hem of her skirts were dark with rainwater.

"Little bird, you're shaking. Why didn't you take those damp clothes off yet?" he growled at her, displeased that she would be so careless.

"I was waiting for you to come back for good. After what… _what happened_, I felt safer this way," she admitted sheepishly.

Her words instantly softened Sandor. Didn't they imply she felt safe with him? "Fair enough. You did well to wait then," he agreed at once. "I'm here now though so hurry up and take those garbs off. You'll feel better afterwards."

As a reply, the girl rose to her feet and started undoing the knots that held the laces of her gown in place. When they were all undone, Sandor helped her loosen the cords and pull the dress over her head. There were a couple of crude benches in a corner of the cabin and the man laid the gown over one. He then stripped down to his smallclothes and installed all of his garbs over the other bench and the broken wooden chest that served as table. The little bird had just removed her stockings when he turned her way again. She was sitting on the blankets, her hands demurely folded over her lap.

"What are you waiting for? Get into the blankets, girl! It'll get you warm before we eat. I'll join you once I'm dry enough if you'd like."

She looked at him hesitantly for a second or two before nodding and slipping into their makeshift bed.

As he stood by the fire and waited for the rainwater drops to dissipate from his skin, Sandor could feel the little bird watching him from under the edge of the covers. It took a couple minutes before he was satisfied he was dry enough and finally turned to walk toward her. As he approached, she shifted back over their bedrolls to make room for him. The gesture pleased him. It was almost as if she was inviting him _herself_ into her bed, a demand which Sandor was certainly not about to refuse her.

Without any delay, he got in and wrapped his arms around her, moving his palms all over her body to chase any remnant of cold that might still bother her. She mewed and stirred against him, a little like a small animal in search of warmth, laying her head into the crook of his neck. Her freezing little hands travelled over his sides for a moment but then she hooked them after his torso and dug her fingernails deeply into his skin, her frame becoming suddenly stiff.

"Still shaken, Sansa?" Sandor inquired, alerted by the intensity of her embrace.

"I'm fine," she answered in a barely audible whisper.

Her claim didn't convince him in the least. Loosening his hold on her, he propped himself on his elbow so that he could look at her.

Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, he saw as he laid his gaze on her, and she seemed very insecure in spite of her words. That and so bloody young. She might have gained a woman's figure and face over the last year, the truth was she was still mostly a girl. Sandor had no scruple about it though, especially not as it was playing in his favour just now with her needing to be reassured like a child and with the way she had jumped at his neck after she'd been attacked. In some twisted fashion, he almost ought to be to be grateful to her attackers for having pushed her in his arms. Being faced with worse than him had put things in perspective for the little bird and forced her to realise that although Sandor had no self-control with her, he was there to protect her first and foremost.

"No need to be scared anymore," he rasped, brushing a teardrop from her cheek with his thumb. "Those buggers won't come back you know: they're dead. Their bodies are probably half eaten by scavengers by now."

"I know, it's just that… that…" she stammered, the corner of her lips quivering.

"Shhh, that's fine. No use explaining anything," the man cut her, fearing she might start to cry again.

But she didn't. Instead, she inhaled deeply and bit at her lips before gazing at him, her mouth curving in a weak yet genuine smile. For the briefest of instants, the view took Sandor off guard. She had never gifted him with a smile like this one before - truthful and private and only for _him..._ _My smile,_ he decided, pressing his ravaged lips to hers with the intent of consuming it and keep it forever for himself. Yet, even while he was without a doubt a starving man, he surprised himself by savouring the moment with a slow, unhurried kiss.

The girl's mouth was soft, so bloody soft and while at first Sandor was glad to only enjoy the sensation of its plumpness against his, he shortly grew greedy and began nibbling at it. With his tongue, he delicately licked at her lips and to his delight, the little bird parted them to allow him to enter. Shyly, she let her own little tongue slid against his, her lips moving ever so slightly with his. Gods, how Sandor loved it when she kissed him back like this. It wasn't the first time she did it but it nevertheless still had the same irresistible effect on him, heating his blood and making him want to possess her all through the night.

"That shift you're wearing, it's a bit damp," the man told her while caressing her breasts through the garb's thin fabric. "Let's take it off."

While she was obviously not fooled by his excuse, the girl didn't object and moments later they were both naked. Her skin was smooth and body supple and as he fondled her everywhere, she kept her arms around him, her lips eager for more kisses. She could be an affectionate little creature sometimes and Sandor had come to appreciate it on a few occasions throughout the past weeks. Still, she had never been as much as now and strangely enough, all that tenderness was rousing his lust just as much as her nipples in his mouth and the smell of her cleft on his fingers.

"Sweet little bird. Come now," the man breathed as he pulled her under him and took place in-between her legs.

Given this afternoon's events, he tried his best not to be too rough with her as he entered her. He did it as gently as he could, speaking soft, soothing words in her ears as he patiently slid his shaft into her. The girl didn't seem to mind the invasion for although her dainty features tautened with each of his slow shoves, she kept her thin white thighs wide open for him and back arched like a bow. Sandor groaned when he was finally fully sheathed and immediately glanced down at where they were joined. By now, he should logically have gotten at least a little jaded by the sight and yet, to behold his big cock engulfed so completely into such delicate folds would apparently never get old.

Slowly, he thrust himself in and out of her, his gaze still lowered in fascination. Nevertheless, the little bird's cunt was not the only part of her that drove him crazy – far from it. He loved her body in its whole, from the tip of her toes to the end of her long hair. And so as he started rocking his hips more vigorously against hers, the man let his stare trail all over her curves, eating each inch of creamy flesh with his eyes even while he bit and licked at the juiciest morsels.

It wasn't so long before Sandor realised he was not as careful with the girl as he had originally intended anymore but by then, it was already too late to slow down. And to be honest, he was past caring anyway. To bury his cock in her tight, little cunt while feeling her small body wriggle under his was far too exhilarating for that. Besides judging by the way she kept moaning sweetly and moving her hips in unison with his, all was good anyhow. He might as well give her all he had.

Bracing his back, he did just that and rode her as fiercely as he truly longed to, each of his comings-and-goings growing deeper, wider and faster. In reaction, the little bird's soft whimpers became high-pitched and her nails dug into his skin, both of which only added to his arousal. If he'd had a say in it, he would have claimed her as thus all through the evening, the night and the next morning, however nothing so good ever lasted in this bloody world and inevitably, his climax came rushing on him. As it did, he tensed and grunted, sweat beading all over his skin as he held the little bird firmly in place and shoved his leaking shaft deeply into her. For a few frantic heartbeats, he stayed sheathed into her warmth, groaning and shaking against her. Still all too soon, the last remnant of his pleasure left him and defeated, he rolled on his back to lie, an empty wreck on their makeshift mattress.

* * *

Later on when they had both came round and put on some dry clothes, Sandor and the girl went on with their usual routine. After having added a couple of logs to the fire, the man walked to the little bird and halted just behind her. She was sitting by the table and had his saddlebag opened in front of her as she took inventory of the food they had. She was only wearing a shift but had put on her new cloak and she looked very nice in it, Sandor noted, satisfied. He touched the fur over her shoulder and smiled at feeling how dry it was already. His gold had been well spent.

_If she were mine – truly mine - I'd dress her in only gowns of the finest fabrics. I'd cover her with so much fur and jewellery, people would take her for a fucking queen, _he mused wistfully before snorting in disdain when he realised how pathetic he was being. She didn't need his damned help to be taken for a queen: she had highborn written all over her pretty face and would look the part of the bloody princess she was even dressed only in rags. And she had almost become Joffrey's queen by the buggering Stranger…

The burnt corner of his mouth twitching, Sandor closed his palm more firmly around her fur covered shoulder. _Dreaming of truly possessing her won't bring me nothing. _It was only through actions that anyone could ever hope to achieve anything. Although, even that was vain in his particular situation.

It was not as if the idea of stealing the little bird away had never crossed his mind - far from it to be honest - but every time he had tried to come up with a plan on how to proceed, he had inevitably ended up hitting a wall. To spirit her out of the continent would not be the problem: he'd only have to get her to board the wrong ship once they reached Maidenpool and then, let her realise on her own they were not heading north. No, the real challenge would start later on, when the King in the North started wondering what had ever happened to his younger sister and sent men after them to find out. It would not be so long before the fact that the Hound had made off with the Lady Sansa Stark became obvious to everyone involved and then, the word spread throughout Westeros. And once that was done, Sandor would be tracked like an animal for the rest of his life, for the price on his head would be one high enough to attract the interest of bounty hunters from around the word.

And _there_ lay the heart of the problem: as stupid and absurd as it was, the truth was Sandor was simply not ready to give up on life just yet. Ever since the ordeal that had been his childhood thanks to Gregor and the rest of this buggering, ugly world, some animalistic survival instinct had always urged him to persevere and keep going. Even now, it was still far too strong to allow him to run head first into a situation he knew for a fact would lead to his death - or at least, not until he had killed his brother with his own two bloody hands...

The man didn't harbour any illusion. While Robb Stark would pay handsomely to get his sister back, Joffrey would be just as eager to put a stop to his renegade swornshield's jaunt across Essos. No matter how the boy had liked him well enough and revelled in putting his ex-betrothed in a compromising situation by sending her alone with him, he would never tolerate that his orders were not followed. There was no doubting he would want to get his revenge and save face by sponsoring the execution of the stray dog that had escaped him from the minute he learned of his disobedience.

And so for the rest of his days, Sandor would need to watch his back and keep moving from place to place but no matter how far he dragged the little bird, rumours of her abduction would always catch up with them. And given how conspicuous he was with his height and scars and Sansa, with her beauty and polished manners and speech, there was no fucking chance they'd ever escape attention. Changing names, dressing up and dyeing the girl's locks would all be useless measures. In spite of all the fucking precautions he might take, the man would end up losing her and thereby it was wiser he chose the sole path that allowed him to keep his head and delivered her safely to her family.

_But what a waste this will be_, the man regretted, gazing at the little bird's striking red curls as they shone under the firelight before him. The thought was highly frustrating. Seeing how the girl had gotten accustomed to sharing his bed so well in just a few weeks and was without doubt on the right track to start appreciating him, it was beyond difficult for Sandor to face the fact that he would ultimately be forced to let her go. And her attitude following this afternoon's incident was making it all the more disheartening…

_Get over it, you stupid dog. This is simply not to be,_ he reminded himself, his jaw clenching tightly. Lifting the hand he still had on her shoulder, he caressed the girl's long silky hair. At the feel, she craned back her neck to wordlessly gaze up at him, her big blue eyes so pure and beautiful. _And perhaps I've taken enough from her already anyhow… _he mused distractedly as he was swallowed into the deep pool of her stare.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind did Sandor stiffen and glance away, his face pulling into a scowl. _What a load of horseshit this is,_ he sneered at himself. It was easy to pretend he had a conscience when he had no other damned option. A bloody mercy he was not such a hypocrite as to believe his own poxy lies.

_I'll bring her home,_ he reiterated, his inner-voice filled with bitterness.

Looking down at her again, the man gently but possessively brushed his knuckle down the little bird's stretched out throat. Then, he brought both his hands on each side of her neck just at the juncture of her shoulders to rub her there. Much like a kitten would, she leaned into him and shut her eyes, her luscious mouth opening slightly.

Sandor's lip's curved into a smirk at that. _No reason to hasten our pace in the meantime though, _he thought while adding pressure to his caress_._ The journey to Winterfell was far too pleasant to be rushed and he would make sure it lasted as long as it possibly could.


	6. Chapter 6

_Hi everyone! Chapter 6 is already ready! :D I'm amazed myself at how quickly after the previous one I'm posting it! Please don't get used to it; there is absolutely not guaranty that I will ever be that fast again. :P_

_Once again, I would like to thank Kimberlite8 for the help she provided me with all the previous chapters. Sadly though, she was unable to continue being my beta, although she'll still be an adviser of some sort and will always remain a great friend of mine. :)_

_The good news is I found her a worthy successor in LeighofOldstones who helped me with this chapter and is just as great and wonderful! Thank you so much, Leigh, for your help! I'm so honoured that you agreed to be my new beta! :D :D :D_

* * *

Maidenpool was the biggest town they had stopped by since King's landing. When Sansa first glanced it after more than a week of travelling through miles and miles of desolated forest, it seemed like an apparition. From afar, its high pink walls made it look like a pale, unblemished ruby shining under the sunlight but as she got nearer, she saw it had suffered from the war, same as any other Riverlands town. Yet after having traversed dozens of burned down villages and hamlets, the sight of a few collapsed towers didn't unnerve Sansa in the least. Maidenpool was still mostly standing and the knowledge brought a smile to her lips.

As the Hound and she entered the city's compound astride their mounts and started advancing across the crowded streets, the girl kept looking everywhere around her, her eyes big and round. The place was truly beautiful and bursting with activities, which was quite a shock after the gloominess and apparent emptiness of the woods of the area. Sansa craned her neck as she admired the tall buildings that flanked the many sinuous lanes that crisscrossed Maidenpool, amazed by the diversity of their style. Some were built from the same characteristic pink stones the fortifications were made of - their façades adorned with hundreds of sculptures of knights and legendary creatures - while others were erected from regular grey stone and of more modest appearance, yet somehow none seemed out of place, their disparity only adding to the city's charm.

One specific building caught Sansa's attention as she passed it by. It was tall and pink and had the most wonderful carving of a maiden and a fool, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes, crowning its massive wooden door. _Florian and Jonquil! Oh, how beautiful! _She reflected in astonishment. Never before had she seen the heroes of her favourite song so grandly represented!

_Perhaps one of them once walked the very same street I am on just now,_ Sansa pondered with excitement as they continued on their way. Her lips parted in a wide grin at the everything she had gone through, to find herself where a legend which had filled her childhood dreams so much was said to have taken place was making her realise that despite what she had believed in her darkest moments, her girlish side was anything but dead. For once, she felt as light-hearted as the naive child she had been when she left Winterfell and the impression was a total breath of fresh air. It was easy to believe the songs were indeed true while admiring her surroundings and to regain the wide eyed wonder that had been hers before all of her illusions were so pitilessly torn apart. Never in her life had she visited a place from which emanated such a romantic atmosphere.

As Sansa and the Hound approached the harbour, the crowd got increasingly thicker and with each new step their mounts took, they were forced to slow their pace. Shops now occupied the ground floor of every building and itinerant merchants trying to sell their food and trinkets were strolling about with trays all the while loudly praising their goods in hope of attracting customers. Some of them were quite successful and surrounded by people while others were less lucky and had to keep going and raise their voice even as they only received a few furtive, disinterested glances. Sansa was fascinated by all the action that surrounded her. She was almost dizzy from continuously swiping her gaze from her right to her left in an effort not to miss a thing but that didn't stop her from doing so.

"So many people," she breathed to herself.

To her surprise, the Hound heard her over the din. "Indeed. I cannot say I like it," he rasped. His burnt features were pulled in a scowl and eyes narrowed as he took in the press suspiciously. "We're attracting too much attention. You can be sure everyone in town will know about our presence before the sun is set."

At hearing his words, Sansa nervously glanced around them and immediately noticed many passers-by were peeking their way. The awareness made her uneasy and she straightaway pulled her cowl higher over her head. The gesture was not of much use though, for as she chanced gazing around herself afterwards, she saw many eyes were still fixed on her. She and Sandor were too conspicuous a duo for a simple hood to put a stop to their curiosity and she thus kept her face tilted down for the remaining of their progress, her previous good humour now tainted with apprehension.

"Here we are, little bird," the Hound announced as they reached the harbour. Jumping from his stallion, he approached Sansa. "Come on now. Let's go and see if one of those ships is heading north," he prompted.

Peering before her, the girl saw a few large vessels were anchored and the view of their tall masts pointing high towards the sky filled her with hope. A small smile on her lips, she nodded and let Sandor lower her to the ground.

As they progressed over the quays, the commotion that surrounded them only got worse. Dozens of men were busy with all sorts of tasks as far as Sansa could see, many of them running, shouting or hopping from ship to boat to quay and then to boat again. The Hound had to stop quite a few in their tracks in his quest for information. Most would only shrug as he questioned them before hurriedly continuing on their way while others pointed in the approximate direction where they believed the port's foreman was posted at the moment, telling him he would best know the answer. When they saw Sandor was busy speaking to someone else, many men would leer at Sansa. The unwanted attention made the girl queasy and she thus stayed as near to the Hound as was seemly, feeling safest by his side.

At one point, Sandor finally ended up finding the port's foreman. He had been yelling orders when they spotted him and supervising some of his staff and sailors alike as they emptied the cargo of an imposing foreign vessel. "No. None of those ships is scheduled to go to White Harbour. I'm sorry about that, ser," he told the Hound from the higher platform he stood on, raising his voice to be heard over the hubbub. "But we know one should arrive from Braavos in about a fortnight. A Braavosi ship that will go from here to White Harbour and then back to its homeland."

"Alright. Do you know if they'll be taking passengers?" Sandor asked, squinting his eyes against the sun as he looked up at where the other man was perched.

"It's a trade ship but they always do when you can pay. Wait here and you should be all right."

Nodding his thanks, the Hound turned around and walked away, Sansa following closely.

"Are we really going to wait until then? _For a whole fortnight_?" she demanded once they had left the quays. In spite of how she knew the answer already and could guess she would regret having spoken the question, she felt compelled to ask.

The Hound snorted and glared at her disbelievingly. "You want us to go back through _all_ we've travelled and then, across the _fucking Neck_?" he sneered.

"Of course not," Sansa replied, vexed by his tone.

"Then you have your bloody answer."

He could be so curt sometimes - or more precisely, _most of the time_ \- yet she was getting used to it and so his riposte didn't fluster her much. Besides, the man's mood always changed so fast that most of the time, she only had to stay silent and wait but an instant before he had already forgotten he had been irked with her.

This time was no exception. Less than a minute later, the man addressed her, all traces of his previous annoyance gone from his voice. "Well then here it is, little bird. We're going to be stuck in this buggering city for a while now. Shouldn't be surprised to see our plan changed once more; we've been through this before, haven't we?" he started nonchalantly, glancing sideways on Sansa.

"We have," she agreed quietly when she realised he was expecting an answer from her. The memory of that week they had spent in Lord Harroway's Town and the many ways the Hound had used her during that time came back to her then, bringing a deep blush to her cheeks and her belly to flutter queerly.

"In the meantime though since there's naught we can do about it, I don't see any damned reason we shouldn't make the most of our wait," the man added, his mouth pulling in a sly smirk. Halting, he seized the rein of Sansa's mare to force the girl to stop as well and leaned toward her. "What do you say we get ourselves the best room this bloody city has to offer, hmm? One with a large, comfy bed and a fireplace big and hot enough that you could stay naked all day and never so much as shiver?" he proposed lowly, his eyes gleaming in that specific fashion she had come to know so well over the last few weeks. She could always tell he was getting improper ideas when he looked at her that way and the sight unfailingly sent her heart racing.

Recoiling against her mare, Sansa's face grew aflame and she hastily glanced around them, fearful that someone might have overheard him. "A nice room would be most welcome," she answered a bit stiffly once she was confident no one had understood his words. Still, she kept her eyes downcast and made a point to ignore his implications all the while praying inwardly that he would soon take his distances. People were bound to notice something inappropriate was going on between them if he didn't back off at once!

The Hound seemed to notice her disquietude, for she saw him straightening his back out the corner of her eyes and when she looked up at him again, his stare was cold and he had regained his usual scowl.

"Let's go then," he urged her dryly, before lifting her onto her mare.

As she took place in her saddle, Sansa allowed herself to relax. In spite of her unease, she had meant her words and the truth was, she did look forward to having a nice room. Having been raised noble, she was used to what life had best to offer and so the prospect of some luxury did gladden her, no matter how the Hound's own motivations were lewd and his vision fixed. Still, she hoped he had only been japing and didn't intend for her to stay unclothed for their entire stay… He couldn't have been serious about that, could he?

"Seven bloody Hells… Now who's those bastards over there?" the man muttered, his large hands still around Sansa's waist.

Tensing, she twisted in her seat and followed his stare, jumping when she saw the group of richly dressed men that was approaching them. For a moment, both she and the Hound stayed immobile and gazed at the strangers but then as if he had just grown aware of their position, Sandor removed his hands from around her waist and took a step forward.

"You must be Sandor Clegane," a fleshy middle-aged man stated from his place astride his tall brown stallion. Two other mounted men were by his side, gazing at him and Sansa with curiosity, while four mount-less but heavily armoured and armed guards surrounded them all.

"I am," the Hound replied, his large build shifting tensely.

"In this case I assume this young lady is Lady Sansa Stark," the fleshy man said. Bowing his head slightly, he looked in Sansa's direction and the girl acknowledged him with an uncertain smile. "It's a pleasure meeting you, my lady." Then, returning his attention to Sandor, he continued. "Some of my guards saw you as you entered town earlier this afternoon. They told me about your arrival."

"Of course," the Hound mumbled. He didn't sound pleased at all, which made Sansa a bit anxious. "It's thoughtful of you to welcome us personally to your town, Lord Mooton," he added flatly.

_Lord Mooton! _Sansa repeated inwardly at hearing the familiar name, her frame stiffening at once._ Of course, it had to be him!_

A good student, she had always been interested in Westeros history and politics and knew by heart the name and sigil of every House on the continent, therefore she could now easily place the man speaking to them. Lord Mooton was the lord of Maidenpool and although his lands were geographically in the Riverlands, he was amongst a number of other lords who had chosen to keep fealty to King Joffrey when the peace treaty had been signed. The Riverlands had been mostly divided in two between the South and the North.

_Oh, gods! I must look a total mess!_ Sansa mused - suddenly very self-conscious - while discretely replacing a strand of unruly hair which had been falling over her cheek and smoothing her skirts as best she could with her other hand. It had been so long since she had been in the presence of someone highborn! Well, apart from the Hound of course, yet he didn't count given how he was only a couple of generations away from his smallfolk origins and as coarse as a common sellsword.

"I came here to offer you my hospitality. If it was your wish, you could stay at my castle until you catch a ship north. I presume this is why you're here. We've all heard about Lady Sansa's forthcoming return to her native Winterfell," Lord Mooton explained.

From her place in her saddle by the Hound's side, Sansa could hear the man grunt to himself. "I thank you for that," he replied, sounding anything but grateful. "Yet, King Joffrey in his generosity gave me enough gold to pay for everything we need on our way and told me I should bring the Lady Sansa Stark to her home by my own means. I'm sorry but I have to refuse your offer."

"As you wish," the man agreed gruffly.

His lack of insistence in the matter surprised Sansa. It was unmannerly of him to let it go so easily and that was certainly not something her parents would have done. Still the girl could understand why one would be reluctant to put the Hound up for a whole fortnight. He was not exactly the sort of guest that people dreamed of having to deal with.

"That being said, since as I know you'll need to stay in town for a few weeks before a ship is due north, I'm sure my lady mother and daughter will want to invite Lady Sansa for tea in the meantime," the man added after a moment of hesitation. "I hope this will be possible at least."

Sandor kept silent for a few long and awkward seconds. "Send her an invitation if that's your wish. We'll be staying at the city's nicest inn, if we can find it."

"This should not be a problem. It's right around the corner over there, at the top of the hill, and called _The Rosy Tower_. I'm sure Lady Sansa will find it to her taste," Lord Mooton assured them. "I'll leave you now. I'm certain you both are tired from your travel."

"We are. Thank you for your understanding."

"Lady Sansa," Lord Mooton addressed her, bowing in his seat. "It was pleasure meeting you. I hope to see you again soon."

"As I do," Sansa replied softly.

Gazing at the Hound again, Lord Mooton saluted him and gestured for his men to follow him and they all turned around and went away.

Once they were gone from their sight, Sandor sighed heavily. "That was to be expected," he rasped with obvious exasperation. Then, just as if it had been her fault Lord Mooton had heard about their presence, he glowered at Sansa. "I'm sure you'd have liked that: to stay at a castle with those highborn, arrogant people." He laughed bitterly. "Your _fellow men_."

"No, you're wrong," Sansa breathed, her features barely moving.

"Really?" the man asked, his eyes narrowed with suspicion and curiosity both. He had not expected such an answer from her.

And to be honest, Sansa was just as taken aback by it herself_. I only said it not to displease him,_ she reasoned. She couldn't say as much to the Hound though. "I don't know them," was what she came up with instead.

The man bought her explanation. "Good then, because I'm not letting you go yet." Raising his hand over the back of Sansa's saddle, he discreetly slid it under her backside to cup one of her cheeks with his palm through the thick fabric of her skirts.

Sansa stiffened but thankfully his touch lasted but a heartbeat and moments later, they were both heading toward the town's centre.

* * *

There were many inns in Maidenpool but as Lord Mooton had advised them, they headed straight to _The Rosy Tower. _As its name suggested, the building was made from pink stone and its oldest-looking wing had a tower-like shape. It was quite big with a large inner yard and even a small Godswood and its common room was surprisingly neat and beautiful with its great stained-glass windows representing scenes from the legend of Florian and Jonquil.

The Hound picked two side by side rooms, one of which was meant to be used as a servant's headquarters but would undoubtedly solely serve as storage for his things, and another, finer room, which the innkeepers assured them was _fit for a high lady _after the man had straightforwardly asked for his priciest room. Sansa was ecstatic when she entered it. That it was the most luxurious chamber the town had to offer was not hard to believe and she thanked Sandor profusely as she explored its large space.

The room was very spacious in comparison to any other they had slept in so far. There was an enormous feather bed in it, two comfy cushion chairs, a big fireplace and even a dining area with a bulky oak table and nice sculpted wooden chairs. It wasn't the fanciest chamber Sansa had ever stayed in - her accommodation in King's Landing had been quite impressive after all - however in her eyes this seemed far more sumptuous, for at least Joffrey was not there to torment his dog.

_No matter what the dog has done, he's still better than the master,_ Sansa decided later on as she soaked in the hot water of her bath. And not only was Sandor better than her ex-betrothed but he was also preferable to many others, as the girl had learned to her cost a little more than a week ago. When those three men had attacked her as she strolled about in the woods after having made water, Sansa had been so terrified. For a bloodcurdling moment, she had feared she would be forced to give herself to not only one, but three other men – these ones total strangers and perhaps ready to kill her once they were done with her. No matter how frightened she had been when she realised the Hound intended to take her against her will on that now seemingly so faraway day in the hot spring, Sansa had never even for an instant believed her life was in danger. He might have done something inexcusable, but in the end Sandor was still the lesser evil, she had realised, suddenly longing for his presence to an extent she'd have thought impossible but an hour before. If she was left to herself, far worse could happen, she had learned on that afternoon, and if it had to come to that, she much preferred being the Hound's mistress. At least she knew him, knew he would never hurt her in truth.

_He did make me his mistress though_, Sansa mused disbelievingly as she gazed distractedly at the long, pale shape of her legs through the soapy surface of the water. The idea was beyond humiliating for the good girl she was – or at least, still liked to believe she was – but it was inescapable. Throughout the past moon, the Hound had bedded her far too often for her to deny the truth.

And she was less and less eager to reach Winterfell for that reason. As the days passed, the prospect of facing her family was increasingly mortifying to her. What if they somehow guessed how dirty and wanton she had become from the instant they saw her? Sansa often lay awake at night wondering so as the Hound's male touch still lingered on her skin and his warm seed slowly dripped down her folds. They would expect the young girl who had left Winterfell all those years ago and get her instead… She was not exactly a woman grown and yet, not a maiden either. _No maiden at all_… she reflected bitterly, throwing her head back to stare blankly at the sealing.

How could she look her lady mother and Robb straight in the eyes knowing all she had done? She couldn't and it tore at her heart because she really, genuinely missed them. It was not natural for her not to wish to be by their side as soon as was possible and yet, here it was. She needed time and so that extra fortnight she'd have to spend at Maidenpool didn't bother her as much as she knew it should. Sansa was not a good liar – Sandor had even been the first one to tell her long before they left King's Landing – and she would need to become a prolific one if she hoped to deceive her family. Did everyone smell lies as easily as the Hound? She surely hoped not because she now had a whole lot of things to lie about.

While Sansa wasn't to blame for its onset, the fact that she was getting more and more comfortable with Sandor Clegane had lately brought her to wonder if she had not become as guilty as him for her current predicament. After he had saved her from her attackers, she had given herself almost willingly to him – so grateful she was for his timely help - and she had kept the same sweet and compliant disposition in bed with him ever since. It was easier that way and she had to admit - more pleasant as well. Staying shut off at all time even while her body was involved in the most intimate act one could engage in had been a constant struggle for Sansa. She was the sort of person that either gave nothing at all of herself or everything she had and so, such a situation had been immensely confusing for her. After weeks of it, she had been emotionally exhausted and ready to crack. Thus, to cede and let her walls come down had felt like a liberation even though deep down, she had known it was actually a burning defeat. It had seemed impossible to go back afterwards and therefore, she hadn't.

The Hound could be kind in his own way, sometimes, and she enjoyed the attention and gentle touches he gave her in those moments, no matter how disgusted she was with herself later on at night when she remembered how she had leaned into his caresses and kissed him back same as if he was worthy of her affection. She was weak-minded, for any time he spoke softly to her and told her how beautiful she was, butterflies would fill her belly and her cheeks blush with delight. She would give herself to him without restraint in those instances and for as long as it lasted, it felt good. Nevertheless, the feeling never persisted and she always inevitably ended-up regretting her lack of self-will even as she knew she would welcome his touch again on the morrow.

* * *

Sansa was sitting in her cushioned armchair by the window on the next morning and working on her embroidery when she heard a knock on her door.

"Who is this?" she asked, puzzled. Sandor always called her name when he wanted her to let him in. This couldn't be him.

"Lady Sansa? I come in the name of Lady Mooton," a voice announced from outside.

"Oh! Of course!" she exclaimed, letting her work fall onto her lap. Somehow, she had completely forgotten about Lord's Mooton and his promise that his mother and daughter would want to meet her. Her pulse increased as she imagined how lucky she had been the messenger had not come at another time and surprised her and the Hound alone in her room, with the door shut. _Gods, how bad that would have looked!_

"I was asked to invite you in her name to have tea tomorrow afternoon at her castle," the man continued, his tone at once pompous and affable.

As he spoke, Sansa heard the door of the modest room Sandor had rented next-door open loudly. "Lady Sansa's not to be bothered. If you wish for her to go anywhere, you need ask me first," the man's gravelly voice echoed through the door.

"Of course. I didn't mean any disrespect. I-," the messenger quickly responded.

"I'm sure you didn't," the Hound hissed dismissively. "Yet, I'll have to speak to Lady Sansa before I give you your answer. I'll contact you later on."

_He's discharging him,_ Sansa realised, her eyes growing wide. While she had never met either Lady Mooton or her granddaughter and had no idea whether she would like them or not, the idea that the Hound might end up deciding not to allow her this one little outing aggrieved her greatly. After weeks of having solely him for company, getting to spend some time with other ladies was a highly seductive perspective for her._ No, I must not let him,_ she decided. Without thinking it over, she threw her embroidery away, ran out of her seat and pushed the door open. "I'll go," she stated with a wide smile on her lips.

The messenger – a tall and thin man dressed in neat yet modest clothes - stiffly returned her smile but his whole demeanour spoke of how nervous the Hound was making him and as she turned her head to gaze at the later, Sansa lost her smile at once at noticing how irritated he appeared. It wasn't so much the expression he wore, for the man's scowl was no more threatening than usual, but the way his steely eyes bore coldly into hers that worried her. She could tell she had angered him, a notion which never failed to make her weak in the knees, however she swiftly shook herself and forced her smile back on her lips, hoping that would mollify him. He couldn't refuse her in front of a House Mooton retainer, could he?

Sandor kept his heavy stare lowered on her for what seemed like an unbearable eternity to Sansa, yet just as she was starting to believe the moment would never end, he sighed and gazed away from her. "She'll go," he rasped at the messenger, the words sounding like a curse. The burnt corner of his mouth twitched. "Now be off and tell your master, will you?"

Nodding, the poor man scurried away just as soon, obviously relieved to be dismissed. "Lady Mooton, will be expecting you tomorrow not long after noon, Lady Sansa," he said as he reached the stairs, before bowing and fleeing from their sight.

After the last of his footsteps had stopped resounding through the hallway, Sandor turned to face Sansa. He glowered at her for an instant and then, gestured for her to enter her room. Her stomach pulled into a tight knot, she hurriedly did as he bid her and he followed soon after, loudly barring the door behind him.

"No way I can cancel this now," he muttered. "I had hoped to find an excuse not to let you go."

From her place in the middle of the chamber, Sansa gazed at him anxiously, her hands clutched together.

The Hound looked her up and down appraisingly. "What were you trying to do here, little bird?" he demanded, strolling her way.

"Nothing!" Sansa squeaked, stepping back.

Sandor only winced at that. He continued his walk toward her, and began unlacing his breeches with each slow step, halting only once he had her backed against a wall, trapped in-between the impenetrable barrier of his muscles and the cold stone behind.

"You'll go but, little bird… don't you reveal our _little secret _to those people," he whispered hoarsely, his face inches from hers and the side of his curled forefinger brushing her jaw softly. "You'd lose more than you would win from your lapse. You realise that, don't you?" With the flat of his other hand, he began caressing her ribs.

"Of course I do. I won't tell, I promise," Sansa replied at once. Somehow, she was offended and even, _wounded_ that he didn't trust her to keep silent. Hadn't she been good and obedient enough to his taste? She didn't deserve to be doubted like that.

"You're a good girl, Sansa. Stay this way and I'll be good to you also."

As he spoke, the Hound raised her skirts over her hips with both hands. Once that was done, he slid them under the vast fabric, grasped her smallclothes and yanked them down. They fell to the floor and he instantly began stroking her between her legs. Sansa gasped at the feel of his callused fingers against her sensitive flesh, her core growing aflame. Distractively, she listened as the man panted in her hair almost as much as if it was her touching him and not the opposite, his rough breathing mingling with her own soft moans. Shortly though, Sandor lifted her from the floor and positioned her before him. He leaned some of his weight onto her to keep her well in place, pinning her against the wall as he seized his shaft in hand, and the next thing Sansa knew, he was aiming its end at her entrance. It was hard as a steel bar already as it poked into her.

"You wouldn't want those high ladies to learn about _this_, would you?" he asked as he filled her insides with his swollen member.

"No," Sansa murmured, her eyes rolling back and arms closing tightly around his sturdy neck.

One of the Hound's hands was under her behind while the other was pulling at the laces of her bodice and soon, he was at once thrusting into her and licking her breasts with the hunger of a wild and starving beast.

He took her like that against the wall for a few long and dizzying minutes and as his cadence increased in pace, Sansa clung onto him all the while mirroring the incessant movement of his hips with hers and letting out small whimpers with each of his stabs in her. Her long legs were wide open around him, seeming almost white in comparison to the dark tones of his leather garments, rubbing roughly against her thighs and chest even as he scratched the skin of her throat with his stubble as he kissed and breathed into her neck.

"_There_… there you go, little bird…" Sandor groaned suddenly, his whole body becoming as stiff as his member.

His powerful build shaking ever so slightly, the man kept Sansa flush against him for as long as his climax lasted – his fingers digging almost painfully into her skin - yet as the last wave of his pleasure receded, he abruptly grew limp and loosened the hold he had on her. Fear that he might drop her to the floor took over Sansa then and she immediately closed her arms more tightly around his shoulders and clutched her legs around his waist. As she did, she pushed her pelvis against his abdomen, shutting her eyes at the sharp but intoxicating sensation it triggered down her loins before repeating the motion just as soon with added pressure – unsure what else to do with herself. She felt restless, as she most often did in the aftermath of their coupling, and as always it seemed strange to her that she could be as thus while the Hound was at his most placid and unresponsive.

Regardless of her agitation, Sansa shortly allowed her body to grow limp as well and threw her head back. As she did, she glimpsed a movement a little further away, her heart jumping in her throat, yet she quickly realised it was only her own movement reflected in the large mirror that stood in the room's corner. The scene it showed back to her instantly grasped her utter attention and she let her stare trail over it for a few long seconds in a mix of fascination and discomfort. Never before had she seen anything as strange as the two of them entwined together like lovers. Sansa had always felt so small and weak next the Hound and to witness him hold her against the wall as easily as if she were a mere doll was only worsening her impression. Her legs were but two fragile things in comparison to the massive muscles they were wrapped after and even the long fingers of her hands appeared small in contrast to the vastness of his back. He was dressed of dark grey and brown whilst she, of pale apple-green and cream and her hair was bright and wavy where his was black as tar and falling lankly down his shoulders. They were two opposite never meant to be anything but that and yet here they were, embracing against a wall, his scarred cheek brushing against her soft one.

In spite of herself, the odd sight sent warmth up Sansa's face and chest and increased the ache in her lower belly but as she finally glanced up at where her head poked over Sandor's brawny shoulder and met her own gaze through the mirror, she immediately shut her eyes against the assault of shame and disbelief that rushed through her. While Sansa had come to accept this had become her reality, she wasn't sure she was ready to look at it so squarely. To see the same eyes which had looked back at her as she brushed her hair before her large mirror in her room in Winterfell as a child on the face of a woman the Hound had just claimed was simply too much for her. How could the man believe she might tell anyone about what he did to her when even catching a glimpse of what the truth looked like troubled her so? To admit aloud to what he had made her was beyond her power and the mere thought that anyone might ever learn about it was enough to make her wish she could fade into nothingness and never be seen again.

Acting on her thought, Sansa hid face into the crook of the Hound's neck and tightened the circle of her arms around him. _No… no, I won't ever tell,_ she mused, suddenly despondent. It was their _little secret_ indeed.

* * *

On the next afternoon, Sansa went to the Mooton's castle as planned. Although it had been her wish to go, she was nervous when she arrived, and with reasons. It ended up being awful. Never in her life had she been more ill-at-ease than on that seemingly harmless gathering. She wondered many times why she had insisted so much on accepting the invitation.

"And how is your travel going, young lady?" the old Lady Mooton asked as her granddaughter and all of her ladies in waiting gazed upon her with curiosity. "Being alone with our King's Hound must not always be easy, I assume."

Sansa swallowed hard at that. "He's not as bad as he seems," she assured them before sipping anxiously at her tea.

"But surely, being alone at all time with a man such as _him_ must not be easy for a young maiden as yourself?" the woman insisted, her inquisitive eyes studying her suspiciously.

The question made her quiver. Could the woman have by any chance guessed what truly went on between them? Was she being nagged? _No, she cannot know!_ Or could she…?

Sansa felt like such a pariah in her worn gown as Lady Mooton and her ladies all peered at her with curiosity, dressed in their best finery. Many times, images of the Hound taking her against the wall the day before flashed in her mind as she made small talk with her hostess.

"You wouldn't want those high ladies to learn about _this_, would you?" she could hear him repeat in her mind, over and over again.

_No, I don't! I swear, I don't!_

Whenever she moved in her dainty chair as she tried to find a more comfortable position, she could feel the burn Sandor's manhood had left in her cleft as he had taken her again less than an hour before her rendezvous – all dressed up, on all four over her featherbed. At times, she was even convinced she could still smell his musky scent on her skin. And mayhap could they also? It was unbearable.

When time to leave came at last, it was a total relief.

"We'll invite you again, if you like, Lady Sansa," the old Lady proposed.

"Please do," the girl replied while forcing a smile on her lips, the empty courtesy leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Yet, when the Hound met her outside Lady's Mooton's solar, she knew what she truly wished.

"They'll want you back again, little bird," he rasped dryly as they rode out of the castle.

"I know," Sansa murmured. "But I won't go. Tell them you won't let me."

Glancing at her at once, the Hound's mouth curved in a faint, satisfied smile. "Good. I will."


	7. Chapter 7

_Hi to all the readers!_

_So here's a new chapter for this story that I hope you'll all enjoy! I would love to thank my wonderful beta, Leigh-of-Oldstone, for her help with this! She is so GREAT and I'm so happy to have her! :D :D :D_

* * *

As much as Sansa had dreamed of visiting Maidenpool, she didn't get to see much of the city as the weeks passed. Most days, she stayed in her luxurious room from one dawn to the next and admired the neat, pink streets from her window, wishing she could see what lay on the other side of the tall buildings which flanked the street. The Hound didn't want her out. He said it was too risky, that people had taken note of their presence too much already and that seeing her would only add oil to the fire. Sansa didn't complain much, it wouldn't have been ladylike to whine all day after all, yet she did remind him on a few occasions that she'd like to explore the city with him before they left.

On one of these instances, they were lying naked in bed in the late morning when she broached the subject. The Hound was resting on his back with an arm wrapped around her. Sansa was lying with her head on his shoulder and a leg half-bent over his. Their bodies were still limp from their previous intercourse and their skin so warm that, nestled against Sandor as she was, Sansa was perfectly comfortable even though the fire should have been rekindled and all of their blankets had fallen to the floor.

"Sandor?" she murmured after having hesitated for a few heartbeats.

"Yes?" the man prompted, his large hand slowly caressing her back.

Sansa bit at her lip. As always just after he had spent himself, the Hound was at his most relaxed and agreeable and she was reluctant to say anything that might change his mood. Yet at the same time, his quiet frame of mind was exactly the reason why she needed to speak to him _now_. If there had ever been a good moment to ask him a favour, it was at this time.

"I was wondering if perhaps you could… bring me along with you tomorrow when you go out to get news of our ship?" she asked, her voice small yet expectant.

At hearing her request, Sandor's body stiffened and his hand froze in place over her back. "I told you already what I think about that, haven't I now, little bird?" he answered wearily.

"I know but… but mayhap you could change your mind?" Sansa suggested. Propping herself on the arm she had under her, she rolled onto her stomach over him so that they faced each other. "Oh please, say yes, Sandor! You'd make me so happy!"

Her pleadings were met with a pair of narrowed, steely eyes and a twitch of the mouth. "Seven hells, Sansa! I'd do it if I could. I hope you realise that," the Hound reproached gruffly. Sighing, he brought both his hands around her waist and began massaging her there. "Still, what would that old Lady Mooton think if one of her retainers was to see you out and about and report it to her? You're supposed to be weak and resting in your chamber, don't you remember? That's what we've told the old hag's messenger each and every time she's sent him here again. I think it's best we don't wake her suspicion. I'm sure you'll agree."

It wasn't the first time he told her as such and since Sansa had had plenty of time to ponder the matter, she knew already what response she would give him long before the conversation started.

"Of course I do, but…" she trailed off to glance nervously at where her hand rested on his chest. "I was thinking that perhaps… I could have started feeling better by now," she suggested while hesitantly meeting his stare again. "It would only be natural after almost a fortnight of respite in Maidenpool after all. And mayhap I could accept Lady Mooton's invitation if she asked again. I'm sure I wouldn't mind it so much anymore now that I know what to expect."

"Come now, little bird. You know you don't truly want this, don't you? You told me yourself you didn't want to see those haughty people _ever again_,by the buggering Stranger!" the Hound countered at once, his whole demeanour speaking of how exasperated the idea was making him. "This city's not worth the discomfort spending an afternoon with the Mootons would bring you, believe my fucking words. You've seen all there was to see of this bloody place as we entered it, anyhow. I swear it."

Sansa gulped and lowered her gaze but she was not about to let it go so easily. "Perhaps to you Maidenpool is not interesting but to me, it is," she insisted, an obstinate frown creasing her brow. "It has been a dream of mine to visit this city ever since I was a child and first heard the Ballad of Florian and Jonquil."

At that, Sandor snorted derisively and threw his head back, laughing. "You still daydream about those stupid songs of yours, do you? Seven hells but what a naïve girl you can be sometimes, little bird. A good thing I'm here to protect you." Then, he sighed and Sansa felt the strong muscles under her relax faintly. "My answer's still the same though. You'll be staying safely in your room for as long as we stay in Maidenpool."

Although she had expected his reply, that didn't stop her from being highly disappointed. Her face dropping, she began to pull away from the Hound with the intent of putting her back to him, but he grabbed her by the waist and yanked her back over him.

"Where do you think you're going, little bird? Don't sulk! You'll get to see the city again as we leave it," Sandor rebuked her, though not unkindly.

Feeling defeated already, Sansa didn't resist and let him pull her tightly against him. If truth be told anyhow, she didn't really wish to stay away from him for the room was cruelly cold in contrast to the heat of his muscular body.

With his hand, the Hound started gently stroking her hair. "I promise I'll take an hour or two to show you around before we board our ship," he said, his voice a quiet rasp in her ears. "This buggering town's no bigger than my hand, believe that. May be pink and pretty as a doll's house but once you've seen King's Landing, this is no better than a fucking hamlet."

With her face resting into the crook of his neck, Sansa could feel very faint vibrations against her cheek as he spoke and the sensation was strangely comforting. "Thank you," she replied a bit stiffly, her voice no more than a whisper.

Sensing his offer hadn't satisfied her, Sandor added: "And I promise I'll get you something nice tomorrow when I go out. What would you say about that, little bird?"

"Mmm hmm," Sansa muttered without much enthusiasm while nodding her head against his shoulder. The presents and sweets he bought her were better than nothing after all and since she wouldn't gain anything from asking him to stop spending his gold on her, she saw no point in disagreeing and refusing them.

* * *

And so on the next day instead of coming along with the Hound, Sansa continued working on her embroidery. It was getting quite impressive by now. She was using a large piece of fabric she had brought from King's Landing and as her stitches were small, she still had plenty of space to cover. Nevertheless, she regularly needed more thread and had to send the Hound to town to get her some more.

This time, she had asked him for cream coloured thread which she planned on using to add shade under the wolves and rosebushes of the Northern scenery she was depicting. Sandor had rolled his eyes when she had showed him the lace that adorned the bodice and cuffs of her apple-green dress so that he could understand exactly what colour she wanted.

"What's so different between this and the white thread you already have?" he had asked, in a mix of bemusement and annoyance.

"It's not the same at all! Don't you_ see_?" she had retorted, holding the spool of white thread before the cream lace to prove her point.

The Hound had looked at it for an instant and then rolled his eyes again. "Women!" he had rasped, shaking is head as he stormed out of the chamber.

As to be expected from such a man, Sandor had no eye for such _frivolous things,_ as he liked to call them, and he more often than not came back with the wrong colour - no matter how detailed Sansa described what she needed beforehand. It was easy to foretell today would not be an exception to the rule. So far, she had sent him back almost systemically, sometimes just as he arrived from the shop. While he always grumbled and complained, the man nonetheless never refused her and went straight back just as soon. In a way, and although it shamed her to be so petty, Sansa had to admit she took pleasure in that power she held over him. She had no other leverage over him after all and thus, she used the sole one she had to its fullest, never granting him with her full satisfaction. He would need to work hard for that at least.

* * *

One day when Sandor was out and that the weather was beautiful for once, Sansa was suddenly taken by an irresistible urge to get out of her chamber and breathe some fresh air. The fortnight they had first been promised they would have to wait until the ship which would bring them to White Harbour arrived had long passed and they were now almost reaching three whole weeks of idle stay at their inn. Sansa was starting to suffocate.

She had spent her morning sewing while gazing out her window, followed by singing to herself while playing the tall harp Sandor had arranged for the inn to lend her, but her usual distractions weren't enough for her anymore. She _had_ to go out, no matter how much she knew the man would be against it.

As he always did when he left the chamber, the Hound had not locked the door. He never did, preferring to ask her to close the bolt after him instead. In principle, there had never been anything to stop the girl from escaping her gilded cage but her fear of displeasing Sandor had always been enough to keep her where he liked her. Until now. Besides, there was no reason he should learn about her disobedience. He had only been gone for about an hour now and since he had told her he intended to return just before supper time, she was confident she could go out without him even noticing.

Sansa didn't go far. She remembered all too well how she had been attacked near Saltpans after having ventured too deeply into the woods. Repeating the experience was the least of her desire, therefore she only walked through the inn's yard and headed straight to its small godswood where she knew she'd be safe. Sandor and she had eaten in the common room on a couple of occasions and gone to the godswood afterwards so that she could pray and thus Sansa knew her way around the inn well enough.

The air was colder than she had expected, she realised when she stepped outside. Yet as she was wearing the fine cloak Sandor had bought her and the sunlight was strong for the season, she was pleasantly warm as she snuggled into the fur. Smiling to herself, she entered the deserted godswood, looking forward to the peacefulness she knew she would find there.

The inn's godswood had a real weirwood for the heart tree, unlike the Red Keep's where an oak had been chosen to fill that role, and Sansa instinctively walked in its direction. From the moment she reached it, she kneeled at its feet and gazed into its carved eyes but she found herself neither able to bear its severe stare nor to join her hands in prayers as she had intended. She was in such good spirits and didn't wish to bring it down by reflecting on all that had lately gone wrong in her life. She could always ask for the old gods' forgiveness on another day.

With that in mind, she stood up and turned away from the heart tree. The autumn air was crisp and fresh and she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with it as she swept her gaze around herself. Everywhere, the ground was covered with leaves of bright yellow, orange and red, all of which came from the oaks, elms and alders that grew in the Godswood, for the weirwood's own hand-shaped red leaves had not yet fallen. Light-hearted, Sansa strolled about the place, humming while picking up the prettiest and most colourful leaves she could find and storing them in the inside pocket of her cloak. She felt childish in a way she very rarely had since her lord father had been beheaded and it was good to be able to behave as such without fearing to hear the Hound's rough snigger behind her.

After what she surmised was about an hour, the girl had gathered a pretty impressive collection of colourful leaves. It was about time she returned to her room if she didn't wish to risk Sandor getting back before her. Still, when she came across the stables' entrance on her way through the yard, she decided on a whim to visit her little mare, if only for a few minutes.

As she entered the place, Sansa wrinkled her nose at the strong equine smell that filled the place. Nevertheless she kept on going anyway, excited at the thought of being free to wander where she liked for once. Not many beasts were present in the stalls and since most were empty, she easily found her mount. The pretty mare raised her muzzle and walked her way as soon as she saw her, eager to be petted. Sansa handed her an apple she had kept in her pouch and she ate it with appetite. The sight made her smile.

"Eat, pretty girl," she told her happily. The mare hadn't belonged to her before she and the Hound left King's Landing and since no one had ever told her what she was called, she had never dared name her and always only called her as such. It made her sad whenever she stopped to think about it. All creatures deserved to be named, yet Sansa had been too preoccupied to worry about it in the past weeks. The horse didn't seem to mind though. She appeared as content as beasts ever were and that brought Sansa to envy the simplicity of her mount's life for the briefest of instants.

Shortly though, the girl chased the foolish notion from her mind. _I should probably get back now,_ she mused. Without much enthusiasm, she turned around to leave, however just as she did, she glimpsed a movement by her side and jumped only to realise it was just the stable boy walking her way.

"Greetings, m'lady," he exclaimed from the other end of the stable where he was. "Need anything?"

Sansa relaxed. It wasn't the first time she saw him and he seemed harmless enough with his long, lanky limbs and mop of brown hair. "No, thank you. I'm fine. I was just visiting my mount."

As she spoke her reply, the boy passed by Stranger, the Hound's great, black stallion and the latter instantly became agitated. She hadn't noticed him so far since he was kept many stalls away from her mare. Yet now, he would have been impossible to miss with the way he was neighing loudly and kicking at the wooden walls that surrounded him.

The sudden racket surprised the stable boy and he took a step back, his eyes grown wide. "That one's apparently not happy to be kept apart!" He laughed then and glanced at Sansa's mare. "Calm down, boy. No one's going to take your girl away from you. She's still all yours, even where she's at," he assured him, slowly approaching the stall in a will to soothe him. The horse was not impressed and thrust his hooves at the wooden barrier that separated them. Startled once more, the boy strode away, chuckling nervously. "Not too friendly, is he?"

As he neared Sansa's side, he straightened his back and caressed the mare's muzzle. "I hope I'm not intruding, m'lady," he asked, discretely peeking back at where Stranger was still neighing. "I was just wondering if all was right since ladies usually don't come by themselves to the stables. Is anything amiss?"

"No, all is fine. I was returning from the Godswood and decided to come to the stables as I passed by so that I could give my mare an apple I had. I was about to leave just now," the girl told him. The stallion had calmed down a bit now, but he could still be heard snorting loudly and restlessly moving about his loose-box.

"Of course. Sorry to bother. You must excuse me, I was just surprised to see you out at all. You don't go out much, do you?"

"No indeed," Sansa replied tensely. Somehow, she feared that he might have guessed the truth of her situation and the idea made her anxious. It seemed to her at that moment as if she would never be able to face anyone again without dreading those she met would read right through her. Yet she swiftly reasoned with herself. There was no way he could know, after all, and she was no doubt worrying for nothing.

"I heard you were waiting for a ship. It's coming soon from what I've been told but you should go out more often in the meantime. Perhaps it doesn't look like much to a high born lady like yourself but there are things to do around here. There is a big market twice a week and some jugglers and puppet shows, sometimes. It's quite fun to watch, you know."

"Oh, I never thought otherwise. It's just that I… that I…"

"You're not allowed?" the boy asked.

Sansa winced. Was he more wise than she had at first suspected? _No, he's just curious, _she realised with utter relief at seeing his genuine expression. She was trying to find a nice way to explain her absence when she heard heavy footsteps at the end of the stables.

"Little bird? What in the fuck's name are you doing _here_?" the Hound's hoarse voice echoed through the large wooden building as abruptly as thunder resounding into the dark and empty night.

Her heart skipped a beat and her whole body stiffened. Sansa gasped and whirled around at once to look in the man's direction._ Oh Gods! He caught me!_ she thought in disbelief.

From where she was, Sandor was only a tall and dark shape blocking the light from entering through the doorway, yet as he strode her way, she quickly began to make out his wrathful features. The sight frightened her so much that her breath caught in her throat for a short instant.

"San… my lord!" she squeaked. In her anxiety, she had almost called him by his name. Hopefully the stable boy had not noticed. "I… I was only taking some fresh air and-"

As the Hound progressed in her direction, Stranger grew agitated all over again, puffing and kicking at his stall's wall. "Hush!" Sandor hissed at him impatiently. With the palm of a hand, he violently hit at the barrier that separated them as he passed by, the stallion immediately becoming quiet at that.

The control he had over the seemingly unrestrainable beast somehow worried Sansa even more. Taking a step back from him as he got in-between her and the stable boy, she craned her neck up to meet his eyes.

"Speak!" the man bid her, his burning stare pitilessly boring into hers and making her feel like a puny, little thing.

"As I told you! I… I only wanted to enjoy the sunny day and decided to visit my mare-"

"And have a chat with the stable boy too, while you were at it? Huh?!" the Hound inquired with a voice so sharp, it cut right through the last of Sansa's courage.

"He… he just wanted to help me…" she murmured despairingly.

"It's true, ser!" the stable boy interjected, trying hard not to sound intimidated but failing miserably. "The lady had only just arrived and I-"

"Will you shut that bloody mouth of yours? Can't you see I'm speaking to Lady Sansa?" the Hound snapped at him, shifting around to face him.

The latter was no match for the Hound's daunting ways. His frame tautening as tight as a bow, he raised his palms flat in front of his chest as if to stop a blow. "Pardon me, ser, I-"

"Piss on your sers, you idiot! I'm not one of those fuckers."

That silenced him for good and he slouched down to wordlessly stare at his feet.

For a few interminable seconds, the Hound kept his stare glued on the terrified stable boy until, finally, he exhaled loudly and returned his attention on her.

"Come now, _Lady Sansa_. You need go back to your chamber," he stated in that mockery of a polite tone he often used to her distaste.

Seizing her upper arm firmly, the Hound glared in the stable boy's direction again. "And you, boy, don't you _ever_ bother her again. Understood?" he warned in a voice so low and calm, it froze Sansa's blood.

"Y-yes, se… m'lord!" the boy stammered, jerkily nodding his head in understanding.

"Be off now!" Sandor dismissed him with obvious disdain.

It took the stable boy only an eye blink to scurry away from their view and Sansa had no doubt he would never so much as glance her way again.

As they climbed up the stairs, Sandor strode so fast that he all but dragged Sansa behind him and she almost stumbled a few times. The girl was out of breath when they reached her chamber and her upper arm was starting to hurt pretty badly, yet most of all, she was scared. It was strange. While she had gotten nearly used to the Hound lately and almost forgotten how much he used to terrify her, she was cruelly reminded of that side of him just then. And so as he shoved her into her room and closed the door behind them, ignoring the base truth of their relationship became suddenly impossible.

"What the _fuck_ were you doing out there?!" he hissed at her, pushing her against the nearest wall with a hand around her upper arm. "Tell me, little bird? How many times have you gone out during the day like that, _huh_? It couldn't be the first time, could it?"

"I swear it was, Sandor!" Sansa instantly retorted, her eyes growing wide at his assumption. "I always listened to you before and stayed in my chamber! Yet today the weather was so beautiful and I just couldn't stay in my room anymore! I only went to the godswood and the stables…"

The man gazed down at her with contempt, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "But how in seven hells can I be sure you're not lying? As far as I know, you could've been having rendezvous with that poxy stable boy from the first bloody day I've left you alone. I'd be none the wiser, is that the way of it?" He seemed truly lost then, in a heated, furious way.

"But I swear it, Sandor! Please believe me!" Sansa implored, her eyes filling with tears. "I had never even spoken to him before. He… he only wanted to know if I needed anything! I swear it was nothing more!" Vainly, she tried to free herself from his clutches but his fingers were closed too tightly around her arm.

The burnt corner of the Hound's mouth twitched at that and he distractedly glanced at the hand he held her arm with. As if on an afterthought, he brusquely released her but the girl didn't move an inch from him even then. She knew she wouldn't gain anything from trying to flee and so she stayed still, her eyes downcast and cheeks aflame, and let him contemplate her for what seemed like an eternity.

"Good thing you're such a bad liar, girl. I can see you're telling the truth. I know how false you would sound otherwise," Sandor ended up rasping, his tone low and flat. "Yet that doesn't change that you should never have left your chamber alone and even less speak to that bloody, buggering stable boy. Didn't you learn anything from those men who attacked you in the woods near Saltpans?" he continued, his voice growing hoarser. "Or from _me_ for that matter?" He laughed then, an ugly, bitter laugh. "Men _always_ want something more than what they let it seem. Stay away from them. _Always_!"

All men couldn't be like that, Sansa immediately countered. _Or could they?_

Notwithstanding the answer to that question, she was not about to contradict him just now. It was best she be as docile as possible and waited for the storm to end. "I'm sorry, Sandor!" she told him in a meek, panic-stricken voice. "I won't leave the room without you from now on, I promise."

Sandor let out a deep and heavy breath. Truly, he seemed exhausted then. "That's what I want to hear," he replied. "I'm supposed to keep you _safe_. That's my damned mission with you." At that, he settled the flat of one of his hands onto the wall by the side of Sansa's head and leaned down over her until his face was hovering just above hers. "But how the fuck am I supposed to do it if you go around and speak with every bloody male you meet?" Then, he paused and pinched her chin between his fingers to force her to look straight at him, his eyes narrowed and gleaming strangely. "Unless I tie you to the bed… perhaps you'd like that?"

"I promise I won't do it again. Please, _you're hurting me!_" Sansa cried, trying to jerk her head free from his grasp.

"I'm hurting you?" the Hound sneered, removing his fingers from her chin at once. "I do far worse things to you at night and you sure don't seem to mind it, do you? You're not as sensitive as you pretend, _Sansa_. I've noticed how wet you become when I take you hard you know…"

Sansa blushed and looked away, her uneasiness suddenly too much to bear.

"Come on now, don't lie. You know I'm right," he added almost languorously.

He_ was_, but the idea of admitting to something she barely wanted to cope with herself was far too humiliating to consider. _Especially in these conditions!_ She stayed quiet and kept her eyes lowered. Thankfully, the man didn't insist any further.

"For as long as you're under my watch, you need listen to what I say," he stated with an air of finality. "Shouldn't be so difficult for a little singing bird like you. You've been raised to obey - and curtsey with a smile as you do. A good thing, because you won't ever get to decide anything for yourself anyhow. I give you a year at Winterfell and not a bloody day more before that kingly brother of yours marries you off for his own benefit to some buggering high lord you've never met before." He let out something in between a snort and a sigh then and shifted tensely. "_The lucky bastard_…"

Sansa was shivering all over, and blindly staring at his lower torso, barely registering anything of what he was saying. All she wanted was for him to get over with it and leave her be.

Silence stretched for a long moment between them but at one point, the Hound must have decided he wouldn't get an answer from her and grew tired. "I'm sure you're hungry, as I am. I'll make sure some food is brought up to your room."

At that, he turned from her and stalked away, yet just as he stepped foot on the threshold, he apparently thought better of it and headed back to the table instead. "Your thread," he spat dryly, fumbling through his pouch and tossing a few small packages over the surface. "I hope the colour's fine with you because by the fucking Stranger, you'll need to make do with it for the time being."

Once that was done, he strode out the chamber and as he got out, Sansa heard the sound of a key close the lock of her door for the very first time since they had arrived.

* * *

Not so long after the Hound left, a kitchen maid came up to Sansa's chamber with a tray of food and drinks. While the man was present if only to open the door, once everything was settled on the table and the maid had left, he locked the door again without speaking a word to Sansa. After weeks of almost always being with him, his sudden distance seemed strange to her. It was not that he had never left her alone while they stayed long periods of times at inns. Unfailingly, he had gone out during the afternoons or the evenings - sometimes hours at a time to do only the gods knew what. Often to Sansa's displeasure, he had come back to her half drunk and gone right to her bed anyway, stinking of wine and lustful, nevertheless he had always returned before night had truly taken root.

Yet today for the first time, even after darkness had fallen, she was still alone.

It was good to have her space for once, especially after his horrible behaviour of the afternoon, Sansa decided. In fact, she dreaded to face him again and was all too glad for this prolonged absence.

Installed comfortably into the rich cushioned chair she preferred by the window, she worked on her embroidery long hours after he had left, her peace undisturbed for once.

* * *

It had gotten truly dark outside and Sansa had moved her chair by the fireplace. Every now and then, she picked a lemon candy from the package the Hound had gotten her earlier today in town and placed it into her mouth. They were delicious, her favourites she had told him when he last bought her some. He purchased similar treats for her every time he went out and often bought her more expensive presents also. Since they had arrived in Maidenpool, he had gifted her with a green silk scarf, a finely chiselled silver hand mirror and a few nice jewelled brooches for her hair. Yet today when he had cast the thread she had asked for over the table, he had also left her his most beautiful present so far.

After the not so pleasant events of this afternoon, Sansa had been in no rush to open any of the packages Sandor had brought her and so the sun had already long set when she finally decided to have a look. The thread was slightly too yellowish to be called cream, which was a disappointment albeit not really surprising, but the lemon candies were to her taste at least. As for the third package, a small varnished wooden box, she had kept it for last and gasped as she opened its lid.

Lying on a bed of black velvet was the most beautiful piece of jewellery Sansa had ever owned. Never had she seen a more striking pendant before and she had immediately taken it in her hands to admire its glow by her candelabra. Its stone was a great big sapphire held in place by a thin band of white gold and hanging from a delicate white gold chain. From as far as she was concerned, it was sheer perfection and so she had been unable to stop herself from trying it on, if only to admire herself in the mirror and see how prettily it suited her. She hadn't kept it on though. There was no way she did knowing how Sandor probably regretted having spent good gold on her after what had happened. She couldn't genuinely smile back at her reflection in these conditions and thus before long, she had replaced the necklace in its box.

_It's so pretty though,_ Sansa thought to herself, while admiring it. For at least the tenth time tonight, she had settled her embroidery over her lap to pick up the small box from the low table by her side and gaze at the shiny blue stone. As always after he brought her something new, she was a bit taken aback that a man as crude as the Hound could have any taste at all. The sapphire had the same deep blue hue as her eyes, she had noticed with wonder from the moment she'd first seen it. Had Sandor chosen it for that reason? _No, I don't think so_, she reasoned just as soon. He had most likely been advised by the staff of the shop he had gotten it from and the colour was just a coincidence. A man who could barely see the difference between white and cream thread couldn't have such sensibility after all.

Often, she wondered why he bothered purchasing all these presents for her when he already had what he wanted from her. His generosity puzzled her, for unlike normal men, he never used the opportunity the gifts offered to woo her and be romantic but only ever tossed them over her lap and unceremoniously asked her if she liked it. _It's not his fault if he's so inept in anything that has to do with good-manners and gallantness, _Sansa reminded herself. With the horrific scars that marred haft of his face so terribly, it was not hard to imagine how little he ever had the chance to perfect his manners with ladies. What sort of women would want the Hound for suitor after all? He was as unrefined and coarse as the lowest of common soldiers but it wasn't completely his fault, in truth.

Caressing the deep blue stone of her pendant again, the girl felt a sudden pang of guilt but she quickly shook herself and frowned. She shouldn't let pretty jewellery soften her so easily. It was not she who should feel sorry but the Hound who ought to regret his actions. Not only had he overreacted and said despicable things to her after having found her in the stables but it was _him_ who had pushed her to disregard his directions by asking too much of her. It was only natural that she had wanted to get some fresh air after all those days spent indoors! She would never have done it had he agreed to let her accompany him from time to time on his outings. And she had not even gone outside the inn's grounds! In a determined gesture, she closed the small jewellery box, settled it back on the table and resumed working on her embroidery.

_He's getting jealous,_ Sansa finally admitted to herself, after hours of trying to avoid facing the truth. _Possessive even…_ A shiver went down her spine at the thought of what that might imply and the rhythm of her pulse increased in pace. She'd seen genuine hate gleam in the Hound's eyes as he glared at the stable boy and it was not hard to tell that had the latter been older and not so easily cowered, he'd have been subjected to the full scale of the man's brutality. The notion that such an innocent encounter could already wake that ugly, animalistic side in him was blood-curling. How would he cope with their arrival at White Harbour, when they'd be met by Lord Manderly, his sons, sworn swords and retainers? Would he be able not to forget himself and control his jealousy or would he keep confronting every man that so much as spoke a word to her? And what would he do if Lord Manderly offered to send a few of his men with them so that she had a proper escort when she arrived to Winterfell, as it was likely he would? Sansa wasn't sure she truly wanted to consider it.

_I should never have surrendered to my own weakness and started offering myself so freely to him,_ she regretted suddenly. It was her fault in a way if Sandor was now so territorial with her. She'd allowed herself to get far too sweet and tender with him, in a way only a wife to her husband should. She hadn't thought much of it as she acted so, only considered her own need for comfort. While she had felt ashamed of herself whenever she took time to consider how quickly and completely she had taken on the role of his mistress, she had never bothered to try viewing things from his perspective before. Now that she did, the prospect of what it all might mean to him petrified her completely. Did he think that… that they were... _that she_...

For a few long and excruciating minutes, Sansa lowered her embroidery to her lap and numbly stared at the emptiness before her, her head turning.

_No, the Hound is a brute, an animal, a beast made man… He doesn't, cannot… love me…_ It was the truth and she knew it but still, it didn't mean he didn't want to own her, much like a stallion longed to possess a mare. It didn't make her situation any more bearable. In fact, it even made it worse.

_But I don't want him to love me and I certainly don't love him! _She knew for a fact that she didn't and yet, it still hurt to think that after everything he had done to her and all the nights they had shared, Sandor still couldn't think of her as more than a possession. It even hurt badly. Once more but this time in a whole new manner, she felt used.

_But this is ridiculous! I must stop at once! _She was so soft! So weak minded to be sad! And yet she was.

_I should go to bed now, it's late. _The Hound was probably drunk by now and he would soon come back, lusting after her. If she was not asleep by the time he returned, he would see it as an invitation and Sansa was in no mood for any of this tonight.

With that in mind, she undressed to her shift and got under her covers and soon, she was drawn into the soothing emptiness of sleep.

* * *

It was morning already, though early, when Sansa gained consciousness again.

She shifted around, yawned and stretched, but as she rolled onto her back, she realised she was still alone.

The realisation was a shock to her.

_Where is he?_ she wondered with bewilderment. Rising on her knees, she pulled at the thick furs and blankets that surrounded her as if she absurdly hoped to find the Hound's massive build hidden amongst them. It was the first time the man wasn't by her side as she awoke in the morning since he had taken her maidenhead and her unexpected and unusual solitude unsettled her. Her luxurious featherbed seemed all too vast for her alone and she herself felt so small sitting up in its corner with her legs tucked under her...

_Perhaps has he met the wrong sort of people and gotten into a fight?_ Sansa worried, her eyes growing wide. He could be dead for all she knew! And what would become of her then, alone in a strange city that was still Joffrey's with no one to protect her?

_No, what am I thinking?_ she scolded herself after a moment. The Hound was far too strong to be defeated by some drunken sellsword he met at a tavern. In fact,_ he_ was the _wrong sort of people_ others feared meeting during a night out - not the opposite! If he was not here, it had to be by his own choosing.

Sighing uneasily, Sansa let her back fall onto the mattress again and pulled the blankets up to her face. They were full of Sandor's musky and strong masculine scent and she took in a long breath of it, suddenly longing for his solid presence in spite of herself.

_But then, why didn't he come back last night?_ The fact that he had left her to herself was troubling her far more than she was willing to admit. It wasn't like the Hound to give her all that space and to let pass his chance to get under her skirts, even for one night. It was so strange being alone.

_Where is he?_ she once more wondered, a quiet sort of agitation building in her. The most logical explanation was that he be in the smaller room they rented next door, yet it was too silent for her to truly believe so. With her ears pricked up, she couldn't even hear a thing: neither a snore, grunt nor movement… What if he had left her? It had not seemed like all that much to her yesterday, but who was to say if Sandor had not been so mad at her after their fight that he had left the city astride his dark stallion and abandoned her to her fate?

The idea was ridiculous, yet it grew in Sansa's mind like a weed. Soon, it was all she could think about and tears were welling in her eyes.

_I must know_, she decided. Without thinking more of it, she crawled across the bed until she was pressed up against the wall that separated the two chambers.

"Sandor…?" she asked, softly. When she received no reply, she put her ear to the wall and repeated his name. "Sandor!" she called, louder this time.

There was no answer. Not a sound. The realisation made her shiver, and warm tears quickly went rolling down her cheeks.

"Sandor, answer, please!" she cried, tapping lightly at the wall. When not a noise was heard again, she started hitting at it with more force. "Sandor! Where are you?" Panic building in her, she kept going for a few more seconds but her palms quickly began to ache and she stopped to throw herself over the mattress.

He had abandoned her. There was no other reason for him to ignore her like this. He was not there and she was now alone, oh so alone! Locked as she was in her room, she would have no choice but to patiently wait until a chamber maid came up and then ask her to inform the innkeeper of her predicament so he could fetch a double of the key Sandor had kept with him. How would she explain her guard's abrupt disappearance then? And how would she fare when afterwards, she had to depend on the Mooton's goodwill? The Hound had left her without even a copper and she would be forced to solicit their assistance and protection until her ship finally arrived. Yet since Lord Mooton was liege lord to Joffrey, he would need to notify his king of the situation and then, who was to say if the latter would not have changed his mind as he so often did and called her back to King's Landing at learning she had displeased his faithful dog? And where had the Hound gone? Where was he?!

Biting hard at her lip, Sansa tried to stop the sobs she could feel burning her throat from coming out but the prospect of the many ordeals she might soon have to face was too daunting for her to keep control over herself. Her whole body shaking against her feather bed, she rolled over her stomach and buried her face into the pillow.

"Oh gods… no… no…" she breathed shakily, feeling more alone than she had in a very long time.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hi everyone!_

_A new chapter is ready! I hope you all enjoy! If you do please don't hesitate to comment! :)_

_A giant THANK YOU to my wonderful beta Leigh of Oldstone for her help with this chapter! She is the GREATEST! :D_

* * *

In spite of everything Sansa had gone through during the last few weeks, she had mostly been good at keeping her emotions in check, preferring to focus on the positive aspects of her life rather than to pity herself. Her day to day existence was not all that bad after all and she even had moments where she was truly content. For as long as she didn't stop to ponder on the larger picture of things, her situation was more than bearable and she therefore very rarely shed tears.

This morning though as she lay facedown on her large featherbed wondering where by the Seven Sandor could be, Sansa lost it completely for the first time since she had broken down by a creek as she cleaned herself up. It was as if everything she had suppressed suddenly erupted out of her. There was no way she could keep any of it inside anymore. Shaking, she sobbed and sniffed like a dirty child, not caring how unseemly this all was. Her pillow was soaked but it didn't matter and she didn't even bother searching for a handkerchief. Weirdly though, Sansa's mind was blank and not a thought crossed it for as long as her outburst lasted. If she cried, it was more out of a need to free herself from the overwhelming tension that had been hers for so long than in response to something specifically. It was an automatic reaction of her body, one it did to purge itself of whatever foulness contaminated it, exactly as she might have retched if some illness had taken her.

For a few long minutes, naught existed but Sansa's sobs and the deep void inside of her. The moment might have lasted even longer if she hadn't heard a movement coming from next door. Her eyes opening wide, she tensed at the quick succession of noises that followed. A grunt, some creaks of what sounded like an old wooden bed and then finally, heavy footsteps on the ground.

_Oh gods, it's him! _Sansa thought to herself, her stomach pulling in a tight knot.

How stupid she had been! Of course the Hound would not abandon her! He was a fighter, not a quitter! If he had taken his distances for one night, it would only be to come back to her with more resolve the next morning. It would have made no sense for him to be so possessive and jealous that he could not even bear for her to exchange a few words with a stable boy half his age and size, only to renounce the control he had over her mere moments later.

With the way she had overreacted and cried like a child, Sansa had made a fool of herself and now Sandor would mock her for it - or worse, snarl at her for disturbing his sleep. Suddenly, images of their last interactions of yesterday afternoon flashed in Sansa's mind and no matter how much she had craved for his presence only a few minutes before, there was now nothing she dreaded more than to face him.

She had no time to prepare herself though, for just an instant after she had grown aware of his presence, she heard the sound of a key fumbling in the lock of her door. Sitting up near the head of the bed, Sansa watched in horror as the door brusquely opened.

"What in seven buggering hells was all _this_ about, little bird?" the Hound hissed as he entered the chamber, slamming the door shut behind him just as soon. His voice was more gravelly than ever, very alike the sound of old, dented steel brushing against stone.

Sansa looked up at him, her mouth agape and chest heaving. To say that he was dishevelled was an understatement. He was a total mess. His lank black hair hung in tangles and he wore only a pair of dirty, half-laced breeches. Dark circles were clearly visible under his bloodshot eyes as he squinted against the wan morning light as if it was a full summer afternoon glare. The fact that he was hangover was beyond obvious. He could barely stand straight.

"Sansa, what the fuck was this about?" he insisted harshly, walking toward the bed until he was standing just in front of her.

Sansa gulped and craned her neck up to look at him. "I thought you had left. That you had abandoned me," she breathed, nervously pulling the blankets she had over her lap around herself.

"You thought I had left," the Hound repeated disbelievingly, each of his words slow and gruff. The burnt corner of his mouth twitching, he glowered down at her. "And why by the buggering Stranger would you think something so stupid? Gods, you crazy little bird! Have you not a damned ounce of sense in you?" As he spoke his question, he got on the bed and let himself fall heavily onto his back over the mattress.

Uneasy, Sansa shifted away from him. "You… you didn't come back yesterday and when I called you, you gave no reply…" she tried to explain, her voice as small as a mouse.

Sandor's head was resting less than a foot from where she was sitting with her legs folded under her and she could see in the weak morning light how some of the hairs of his otherwise black stubble were grey. "I had good reasons not to come back to you last night, with the way you've been running on your own around town," he rasped dryly, rubbing both his temples with his fingers. His eyes were closed but his features were tense and his jaw clenched.

"I was not running around town," Sansa reminded him even though she knew speaking back was perhaps not a very good idea right now. "I only went to the godswood."

His face twisting into a wrathful scowl, the Hound turned his face toward her. His eyes were two grey slits gleaming with contempt. The pace of Sansa's pulse increased as he laid them on her. "That's now where I found you!" he spat. "You were at the stables, speaking to another man-"

"A boy!" she cut off despairingly.

"Don't let details fool you, girl! It's all one and the same with men, didn't I tell you yesterday? You should never have left without my accord. You're my charge, Sansa, and you've no fucking judgment. I need to protect you from yourself."

"You treat me as if I were a child!" Sansa reproached, her frustration suddenly too much to bear. "Why would you do that and then… and then…"

Sandor snorted, a half-mocking, half-knowing smirk curving his lips. "Don't you see those are two completely different things, little bird? You may be young and act like a bloody child sometimes but in bed, you're a woman. Believe that," he told her, propping himself on an elbow and seizing her by the wrist.

"It makes no sense," Sansa retorted, squirming against his hold. As she did, she lost her grip on her blankets and they fell around her.

"You're wrong. It does," the Hound assured coldly, letting himself fall back onto the bed and yanking her down with him.

Sansa collapsed half over him, her legs still tangled amongst the mess of blankets and furs around her. "Please, Sandor!" she squeaked. One of her palms laid flat over his torso and she tried to use it to propel herself away from him but the man circled her waist with his hands to keep her well in place over him. He buried his face into her neck and hair to sniff and nuzzled at her much like a dog would. Sansa wrinkled her nose in distaste. "You stink of wine," she complained while jerking her head away from him, a bit taken aback by her own words. It wasn't like her to be so brutally honest.

"Oh come on now, Sansa. Don't play the prude with me. You don't usually mind it," he rebuked her.

"I do. I just never say so…" Sansa whispered stiffly. She squeezed her eyes shut, unsure she had the courage to witness his reaction.

The Hound didn't add anything to that. Instead, he exhaled loudly through his nose and flipped her onto her back over the mattress. Sansa yelped and opened her eyes just in time to see him shove all the blankets and furs off of the bed, some of which stayed tangled around her legs at first, but Sandor made quick work of them and soon nothing remained on the mattress but the two of them and the pillows. In one fast gesture, he straddled her around the thighs and raised the skirt of her shift over her belly, his hands running over the smooth skin of her waist.

Knitting her brows, Sansa twisted onto her side in a vain attempt to put herself out of his grasp. "No, please! I don't want this right now," she murmured despondently.

"But _I_ _do_, little bird. Don't resist me now," he bid her.

With both his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her on her back again, his palms just as soon going down over her breasts to cup them firmly. His fingers pinched her nipples through the fabric of her shift and Sansa drew in a sharp breath at the acute sensation it triggered, her gaze darting up to the man who hovered above her. She let it rake over him, taking in every detail of his impressive bulk as if it was the first time she saw him.

He was so muscular, each part of him unbelievably robust and sinewy and his shoulders were so broad, his hands so big… There was something very commanding about his presence alone, and thus as Sansa's gaze distractedly swept down the coarse hair that covered his torso and forearms, she stayed still and let him touch her breasts as he pleased. Soon, her stare fell to his groin. With the way he was looming over her, with a knee on each side of her, she could clearly see he was aroused. While it wasn't truly surprising considering their position, that didn't stop Sansa's heart from starting to beat faster. She might have gotten used to the act itself since he had stolen her maidenhead more than a moon ago, but the sight of the Hound's manhood, so daunting even when covered with clothes, had never ceased to make her anxious. Though these days, her anxiety never came alone. Always, it was entangled with that odd yet intriguing warmth in her lower belly which made her skin flush and eyelids grow heavy. Even now that she wanted naught less than to be mounted by the Hound, Sansa could feel heat pool down her loins. She winced at the notion, averting her eyes from him.

Sandor's hands trailed down her body, his thick fingers brushing the nude skin of her stomach and taking hold of her smallclothes. Lowering himself down her legs, he yanked the garment to her ankles and threw it to the floor. Sansa tried to keep her legs clenched together as he took both of her knees in his hands but her resistance was futile and he easily parted her thighs widely. Defeated, she didn't seek to close them back afterwards. There was no point in fighting against the Hound. He was too strong and always ended up getting what he wanted from her anyway. Peeking down at him, she saw his stare was fixed on the dark auburn curls which grew in-between her legs, his eyes gleaming with animalistic thirst. It wasn't hard to guess what he had in mind to do next.

"No, don't do it please, Sandor," Sansa whispered softly, knowing fully well he would not listen.

With strong hands, Sandor caressed her inner thighs all the while bringing his face just above her mound. "But why shouldn't I? Your pretty little cunt tastes like honey and you like it well enough when I do this to you, don't you?" He snorted a short laugh then. "Besides since you said yourself you thought I stunk of wine, this should suit you just fine. You won't smell me at least while I'm down here."

With surprising gentleness, he opened her lower lips with his fingers and flicked his tongue over her folds. Sansa inhaled deeply and threw her head back as the indecent caress sent pleasant shivers all over her body.

"Stop… stop it…" she pleaded, stirring in his clutches. Even though her own body was betraying her, she needed to oppose at least once more, if only by principle.

The Hound didn't listen of course. He continued licking at her like the rabid dog he was, his hands like two vices keeping her thighs spread out around his face and legs thrown over his shoulders. As he went on, Sansa became less and less tense, her breathing accelerating. In spite of how licentious the gesture was and how much she knew she should logically have been disgusted by it, the feel of Sandor's restless tongue on her sensitive flesh had always been intoxicating to her and today was no different.

"You taste like the seven heavens, girl. I'd gladly eat you whole," Sandor muttered, removing his mouth from her. With his thumbs, he both parted her folds again and caressed that small nub of flesh she had just above her entrance, his stare glued to his task. Sansa was always too abashed to glance down at him for more than an eye blink while he kissed her down there. Nevertheless, even with her gaze fixed to the ceiling as it was, she could tell the Hound was pleased with what he was seeing. "Mmm…" he whispered, the hunger in his voice making her blush.

He resumed licking her, this time in concise circles around her nub. Sansa arched her back and let out a very unladylike groan but just as she clutched her hands after the sheet that covered the feather mattress, Sandor surprised her by scooping the cheeks of her bottom with his palms and lifting her upward. With his tongue, he then started to penetrate her slit much like his member often did, using his hands to guide her mound toward his face with each of his thrust into her. The gesture was so obscene that it took Sansa out of the trancelike state she had been in so far.

"Sandor!" she complained. Wriggling out of his grasp, she sat up, away from him with her legs closed tightly together.

The Hound laughed, the skin around his lips gleaming with moisture. "Why are you being so proper, Sansa? Don't tell me you didn't like it, I won't believe you."

"Why wouldn't you, if I said so? I think I know better than you what I like or not," Sansa answered back. Even as she spoke, she wondered why she insisted on contradicting him when he would undoubtedly see her words as provocation. She regretted her lack of self-control just as soon, for the man frowned and a very peculiar spark passed through his dark eyes.

"You want to know _why_?" Sandor demanded. "I'll show you." A menacing smirk curving his lips, he grasped her by the ankles and pulled her under him. Once that was done, he brought his hands where the skirt of her shift was gathered around her waist, took two handfuls of the fabric and pulled the garment over her head.

Sansa fought against it, yet the Hound won as he always did. Soon, she was naked under him and he had both his hands around her wrists, keeping them onto the mattress over her head.

"I think you've missed being taken like this. That's why you've been so bloody defiant since yesterday," he rasped lowly.

His body was flush over hers and even though she could tell he was putting most of his weight onto his forearms and legs, he was still extremely heavy. His erection was poking onto her upper thigh, so hard and massive it hurt. Sansa could feel the ache in her lower belly increase.

"I'll fuck you hard, like you deserve." As he said the words, Sandor tugged Sansa's wrists higher over her head and put them both under one of his hands, his fingers closing tightly around them. Then, he brought his free hand between them and began fumbling with the laces of his breeches. Soon, the girl felt his engorged member fall heavily onto her mound and belly. The Hound took it in hand to pump it a few times.

Apart from the fact that Sansa was completely nude and they were in the comfort of a luxurious inn chamber, the whole situation was very reminiscent to that of the first time Sandor had lost his control with her. Exactly like then, he was still half dressed and constraining her under him, adamant to get his way with her. Once more, she wouldn't be given a choice on the matter. Only now, she knew what to expect. And also… also after all those weeks of being constantly bedded by him, Sansa had not only gotten used to his invasion but learned to find enjoyment in the act. And thus this morning, in spite of how her mind would have wished it otherwise, her body was responding positively to the feel of the Hound's powerful build on top of her and a small fire was burning in her core.

The stiff head of Sandor's manhood was soon prodding at Sansa's entrance. He slipped into her as easily as a hot knife through butter, his entire shaft filling her. She gasped as a flash of lightning passed through her, somehow painful and exhilarating at once, each of her muscles tautening at the impact.

"Seven hells, little bird… you're so fucking wet," the Hound rasped. As if to prove his point, he withdrew his shaft entirely out of her cleft and thrust himself inside just as soon. It slid back to the hilt as smoothly as it had before.

Sansa moaned at that and threw her head back. Out of curiosity, she tried moving her arms, if only a little, but they were imprisoned over her head, the man's hand like a steel shackle around her wrists. With his other hand, he was pressing one of her thighs onto the mattress to keep her legs wide open, his brawny body seemingly covering every inch of her. There was no way she could give him even an ounce of resistance and the notion of how trapped she was exacerbated the fire in her. A new surge of moisture seeped in her folds.

In slow and steady yet sharp movements, Sandor kept sliding himself in and out of her just as widely as he had before, pulling his shaft completely out of her only to dip it as deeply as he could just as soon.

"You're soaked, girl, and got more so since I've started fucking you. Don't think I didn't notice."

Sansa blushed from her brow to her toes but there was no point in denying what she knew to be true. Instead, she shut her eyes and moaned.

The man carried on with his slow shoves, the hand he had on her thigh moving upward to trail over her curves until it was resting on the side of her face, cupping her cheek.

"Fuck… Sansa… You're so beautiful, girl. You know that, I hope?"

Sansa nodded her head once. As she grew up, she had always loved to look at her reflection in the large mirror she had in her room at Winterfell. She found herself pretty then and had been proud to think that one day, she would be as beautiful as her Lady Mother. So far though, she wasn't sure her beauty had served her so well.

"I've wanted you ever since you grew teats but you're getting more stunning with each day that passes," the Hound admitted, burying his fingers into her hair.

With her eyes closed as they were, Sansa didn't see him as he bent down closer. Suddenly though, his lips were on hers, his tongue delicately entering her slightly parted mouth. Sansa's eyes fluttered opened in surprise, yet she closed them almost as soon and moved her lips and tongue with his. She could taste herself on his lips, the tangy flavour mixing with that of the strong wine he liked to drink. As strange as it was, Sansa found nothing repellent about it. The Hound was not a bad kisser - or so she believed since she had never been kissed by anyone but him. It was even one of the things he did to her that she preferred, which was certainly odd given that his face was hideously scarred and lips half burnt.

They kept on kissing like that for a long moment, Sandor rocking his hips in now less wide but more rapid thrust and Sansa mirroring each of his movements. "Seven hells, girl… you're good…" he said, pausing to look her in the eyes.

Sansa met his gaze yet just as she did, the Hound bowed down and released her wrists to bring his hand under the curve of one of her breasts and direct her nipple into his mouth. A small whimper escaped the girl's mouth, as much from the feel of his lips and tongue on her as from the sudden freedom of her wrists. They ached from having been confined in the man's hold and she stretched them a little before swiftly laying her palms on his ribs.

After having sucked at Sansa's nipple until it was hard and glistening, Sandor removed his mouth from it to kiss her neck and throat. Keeping one hand on her breast, and the other clasped on her hip, he tirelessly shoved himself between her thighs. Far from repulsing him as she first had, Sansa now welcomed his invasion, her legs spread wide while she guided his movement with a hand on each side of his torso.

The Hound was such a sturdy man, so large and tall and gifted with unforgiving strength, and as he took her, it was as if having a will of herself was impossible. Sansa needed to surrender to his every wish, to make his desires her own or else be coerced into submission. For some absurd reason, the notion of how little choice she had was liberating. She was his captive: it didn't matter what she cared for, he would always prevail and the knowledge of how ineluctable this was enabled her to totally abandon herself. Whatever the Hound had in mind, she would end-up doing and so it was best she complied and found ways to appreciate the act as well.

Therefore, Sansa let go of all restraint and moved her pelvis with his just as eagerly as he did, her whole body growing aflame every time he made his way into her slit. The continuous friction of his rock-solid member inside her made her more and more sensitive, rendering her flustered in a heady sort way that was far from unpleasant. There was something else building in her though, a potent tickling which took root in the rubbing of her nub against the Hound's groin and of which she desperately wanted more. Sansa had experienced it on other occasions before, of course, but she had never done anything about it previously. Today however, it was too intense for her to simply leave it as it was.

Unsure of how to proceed, Sansa did as her instincts told her and rolled her hips in ampler motions that allowed her to press her nub more firmly against Sandor with each of his powerful thrusts. As she did she could glimpse, though from afar, bliss stronger than anything she had ever experienced and she moaned and sighed as much from the yearning she had for it as from the frustration her inability to dive fully into it woke in her.

After a moment of that, the Hound pulled slightly away from her. "Little bird… you wild little thing…" he muttered in-between pants. His voice was raw and feverish and his eyes burned with lust. "Trying to do something, are you? Mmm, I think I should help."

With that, he brought his hand just above where they were joined and brushed his thumb over her folds. They were so slippery, Sansa was briefly assailed with embarrassment, yet it didn't last, for the contact of the Hound's calloused fingers on her nub was too perfect for her to keep her mind on anything that might prevent her from fully relishing his touch.

Resuming his comings and goings, he kissed her again and Sansa unwittingly almost bit at his lower lip, so much was she overwhelmed by the increase of her pleasure. The man growled at that but Sansa could tell he hadn't minded.

With Sandor's thumb still stroking that sensitive spot of hers, Sansa now only had to rock her hips very faintly to enhance the tickling in her belly and transform the tantalizing glimpse of bliss into a full view of what might lay ahead if she kept at it. Sliding her hands to the Hound's waist, she pushed her middle against him to add even more force to his ministration, swaying her hips with so much resolve that soon, the man stopped bothering stirring his thumb altogether to give her full control over the caress. In the midst of all that, Sandor never ceased ravishing her, the lascivious gasps and cries Sansa let out apparently encouraging him to grow more and more merciless as he shoved his manhood in and out of her.

As their encounters had gone on over the last few weeks, dissatisfaction had been part of Sansa's experience just as much as fear, shame and pleasure. With everyday that had gone by as she learned to enjoy being possessed by the Hound, she had gradually become more aware that there was something missing on her part which was evading her like sand slipping through ones fingers. Now that it was within her grasp for the very first time, Sansa was more curious than ever to know exactly what it was and would not quit until she did. Her legs spread as widely as she could, she restlessly rubbed her rub against the Hound's thumb anytime their hips met, her naked feet hanging in the air around his broad back and toes pointing towards the ceiling.

Sandor was breathing so loudly into her neck it almost sounded like grunts, the sound mixing with the incessant creaks of the bed and Sansa's own cries. The hairs of his chest were brushing against the tip of her breasts, his stubble scraping her neck and the roughspun of his unlaced breeches scratching her bottom but all of her attention was concentrated on that small ball of liquid fire the tension in her core had evolved into. Every second or so, it pulsated like a heartbeat and grew into something bigger. Sansa was squirming and throwing her head back from one side to the other, her eyes shut and lips parted, sweat beading all over her skin.

At one point though, a jolt passed through her and she tensed and exhaled, her eyes popping open at once. Having swelled one time too many, the point of tension in her core suddenly imploded in the most exquisite manner possible. It wasn't blood that ran in her veins anymore but wildfire and as it rushed through her body, the mundane reality of life was transformed into total ecstasy. Her eyes rolled back and she entirely lost control over herself, groaning so loudly she was sure anyone passing by their chamber could hear. Each of her muscles clenched and unclenched, her nails digging deeply into the Hound's thick skin.

_Why?_ _Why does it have to be so good when I've never wanted any of this?_ Sansa wondered as her climax slowly subsided. There was no answer to her question and since there was no point in torturing herself with it, she promptly chased the thought away to savour the last of her peak. In a way, it was as if the moment lasted forever even as she knew it had gone by in only a few heartbeats. It was mesmerising. Even though it didn't excuse him, Sansa somehow felt like she understood the Hound better now, why he had wanted her so much as to disregard everything, from her own will to his king's commands to the order of things in which their society worked only to get to experience _this_ through her.

"Little bird…" Sandor let out, amazed. As he spoke, Sansa realised he was now completely motionless, his member only half sheathed in her. "You loved this, didn't you? Seven hells, Sansa, but you were so bloody beautiful as you came. I could fuck you forever like this…" he breathed, something akin to passion in his ragged voice.

Sansa was too taken aback and exhausted to speak. Instead, she looked into his eyes and saw they were dark with need and just as heavy-lidded as her own. The next thing she knew, his mouth was crashing over hers and he was kissing her avidly. As their lips and tongues moved together, the Hound bucked his hips against hers to fully impale her, the gesture so abrupt that Sansa yelped in his mouth. She didn't mind it though. To the contrary after the turmoil she had just experienced, her insides were so receptive that with each of his stabs in her, he was reviving some of her previous bliss.

"Turn around, Sansa," Sandor demanded after only a few seconds of that, pulling his shaft out of her and lying a hand on her side to urge her do as he asked.

Sansa obeyed, still a little limp and dizzy from her climax but excited at the thought of being taken like that. No matter how horrified she had been the first time they did it this way, she had now come to enjoy this position regardless of how easily her pleasure could turn to pain the instant the Hound stopped being careful with her. His manhood could penetrate her deepest when she was on all four and while that could lead to elation, it also made her much more vulnerable to his ardour. It was most definitely a double-edged sword.

With his hands on her hips, Sandor pulled her toward him and plunged his member into her cleft in one deep thrust. Sansa's folds were so wet and his shaft so hard that he didn't even need to guide it with his hand. It entered right through, the sharp sensation it elicited inducing a long, throaty gasp from Sansa.

Without missing a beat, the man began sliding his shaft in and out of her at a frantic rhythm that announced quite clearly he had no intention of fooling around and wished to get straight to the point. More savagely than ever, he pounded himself into her but Sansa's folds were so moist that it didn't even hurt, or only barely. She opened her legs for him and pushed up her behind to give him full access to her cleft, her upper body propped down on her forearms and head leaned on the mattress. Already, she could tell he was close to his own release by the way he was breathing heavily and grunting like a beast.

"Fuck, little bird… _Gods_…" the Hound let out as he buried his manhood completely in her one last time.

From behind her, Sansa could feel his great frame shake ever so slightly, his hands closed stiffly around her hips as he spilled himself in her dept. One more hushed curse escaped his lips and he withdrew his shaft from her before letting himself fall heavily by her side and pulling her against him.

For a long time it seemed, they stayed nestled against each other in silence, both fulfilled for the very first time. Her head leaning against his shoulder, Sansa distractedly played with the hair on the Hound's chest while he softly caressed her back. She wasn't sure what to think about what had just happened. The only thing she knew for certain was that reflecting too deeply on this morning's events and most of all, the new barrier she had crossed with Sandor, was the last thing she wanted - especially now that she felt so good and sated. She knew shame would ensue if she did and she was a bit fed up of being ashamed all the time. Today, she could make an exception.

"You hungry?" Sandor broke the peacefulness of their chamber just as Sansa was falling asleep.

While eating hadn't been on her mind before, from the moment he asked the question she realised just how starving she was and became wide awake. "Oh, yes! Really!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, tilting her head up to gaze at him.

"Mmm, me too," the Hound replied, amusement lacing his rough voice. The good side of his lips curling in a smirk, he rose on his elbows and laid narrowed his eyes on Sansa. "I'll go fetch us some food in the common room - a whole damned lot of it because I'm bloody famished right now. Yet, don't you _dare_ get dressed while I'm gone, little bird. I'm not done with you." Even though his smirk had evolved in a wide, crooked grin, his tone was threatening on the last sentence - in a thrilling sort of way.

Her belly fluttering, Sansa's eyes grew wide and her heartbeat increased in pace but the truth was, she was looking forward to the prospect.

The Hound sat up, yet just as he was about to leave the bed, he leaned over her to nuzzle at her neck, one of his hands going over the side of her bottom and clamping its cheek so firmly that she let out a high pitched squeak. Laughing, Sandor laced up his now thoroughly crumpled breeches and headed to his room for a tunic before climbing down the stairs that led to the common room.

As she waited for him to return, Sansa brushed her long auburn curls. She had put her shift on, surmising Sandor wouldn't mind it so much given how easily he could tear it from her body if he wished to take her again. It wasn't that warm in their chamber after all.

Sansa's hair was a mess after how wildly they had coupled and she was looking at her reflection in her large mirror as she tried to undo all the knots in it, a small and hesitant yet genuine smile playing on her lips. This morning had been so intense and she had gone through every type of emotion possible. Less than an hour before, she had been sobbing in her pillow and now, though she was confused and a bit uneasy about it, she was happy. As for Sandor, he had been furious as he entered her chamber and they had been arguing even as he undressed her. However when he left her a few moments ago, he had been in his best mood, their quarrel all but forgotten. How strange life could be.

Sansa was still pondering about it all, her hair only half done, when the door opened and the Hound suddenly stormed in. She had not expected him so soon and thus she smiled expectantly, for she was very hungry, yet she realised with disappointment he had only brought back a loaf of bread and a jar of honey instead of the feast he had promised.

"Little bird," he said. He sounded agitated and Sansa lost her smile, suddenly dreading something bad had happened. "Little bird, the ship has arrived! Everyone is talking about it in the common room," he announced, shouldering the door shut behind him. "I've brought you something to eat while I'm gone and you can be sure I still have every intention to have you again later on. Yet for now, I need to change and leave you. I want to speak with the captain as soon as possible."


	9. Chapter 9

_Hi everyone! :)_

_I hope you'll all enjoy this chapter! It's my longest yet for this story with almost 8500 words. I really, REALLY can't wait to know what you think about it! :D_

_As always, I'd like to thank Leigh of Oldstone for being such a great beta! :D :D :D_

* * *

Sansa was looking down at the chamber pot in front of her, her head turning in all sorts of horrible ways. She shut her eyes to better concentrate on the task ahead, not opening them until she had let the evil out and retched what she had to, tears pearling at the corner of her eyes. That done, she wiped her mouth with her handkerchief and stood up. She felt better now, though still not totally right.

There was fresh water in the washbasin settled over the chest of drawers in the corner of the cabin and Sansa cleaned her face with it. Afterwards, she took a sip of water from the mug on the table and opened a drawer. She picked her simplest dress and put it on as best she could by herself before sitting down in the cushioned armchair installed under the porthole. Sandor had borrowed it from the captain himself, for their cabin had only been furnished with a set of two bunk beds, a chest of drawers, a very small table and a single wooden chair when they first boarded the ship.

The vessel, the _Travelling Titan_ it was called, was of medium size and meant for trade alone and thus there weren't that many cabins in it. In fact, the one Sansa occupied was the only available for passengers but thankfully reserving it had proved no problem, for no one had decided to make the voyage apart from her and Sandor. Nevertheless even with its two bunks, openly sharing it would have been highly improper and therefore no straw mattress had been installed on the upper bunk. It had been left as a simple wooden platform which they used to store their saddlebags and luggage. The captain had offered to Sandor to install himself in the crew's sleeping quarters but the latter had refused, using the excuse that he needed to keep an eye on his charge and would rather fix his hammock just outside of her door instead. This was a likely enough pretext and thus no objection had been given of course. Sandor had probably passed for a dutiful and assiduous guard, yet Sansa sometimes wondered if that had changed since their departure from Maidenpool, his hammock having hung empty every single night. Had anyone noticed?

As he often did when Sansa was sick, Sandor had left the cabin to check on the horses so that she could rest unperturbed, and he would probably come back with some ginger tea for her later on. Over the last fortnight that had passed since the _Travelling Titan _had weighed anchor, Sansa had realised just how little she was made for sea. She had been ill non-stop for the first few days and then afterwards though she had gotten better for the most part, she had never stopped feeling queasy in the morning. The Hound often teased her about it, telling her Northerners were thin blooded.

Between the moment the vessel had docked at Maidenpool's port and the day it had left shores, a whole week had passed. The ship's crew had spent the first few days of their stay emptying its holds of some of its merchandise and then, a couple of others packing in new goods. When their work had been completed at last, the captain had given his men two days off so that they could enjoy the city. While Sansa had been disappointed when Sandor first told her the ship couldn't leave just as it arrived, the wait ended up not being so terrible. To the contrary even.

After that first unexpected climax she had experienced on the morning the _Travelling Titan _hadarrived, the Hound had taken a fancy to seeing her come. Although he didn't take her more often than he had already, for he had mounted her frequently enough, the dynamic of their intercourses changed quite a lot during that last week in Maidenpool. It wasn't only his release that counted anymore, hers was suddenly just as important to Sandor's eyes. And so as the days passed, they both learned to work toward it and did so well that by the time they boarded the ship, Sansa knew exactly how to roll her hips and pelvis and the Hound, when and how to caress her, to unfailingly guarantee she'd reach the seven heavens.

Now that she understood firsthand what it felt like, Sansa appreciated Sandor's peaks in a whole new light and relished in every little signs that told her he was about to lose control over his senses. It stirred her to see him so overwhelmed by his own pleasure and she enjoyed provoking him by moving in ways she knew would increase his lust. She did all she could to make it as exhilarating as possible for him and she knew he did likewise for her. There was reciprocity to the act there hadn't been previously and for that reason, their coupling had gained in intimacy. Sansa felt like they truly shared something now. It was as if they had grown closer for it. It was strange.

And yet for all of that, the Hound had apparently still not forgiven her for going to the stables on her own. They had never spoken of the incident again and while Sansa was grateful for it, the fact that Sandor still preferred locking the door behind him whenever he left her alone rather than to let her close the latch from inside made it pretty clear he had not forgotten. Even this morning that she had been sick when he'd last seen her and obviously not going anywhere, he had locked her in, same as if she was an unruly child to be punished. Sansa tried not to let it bother her. She had no desire to go out on her own after all, yet it sometimes made her sad to think that Sandor didn't trust her more. She might have misbehaved once but she had learned her lesson and knew not to disobey him from now on. She desperately wished he would see it also.

Sighing, Sansa picked up her brush from the table by her side and tidied her long curls with it for a time. Once that was done, she fixed her hair in a half braid held in place with one of the nice jewelled brooches Sandor had bought for her in Maidenpool. Then, she stood up to fetch the sapphire pendant he had offered her. Once she had put it on, she inspected herself using her hand mirror, satisfied with the image it reflected. Even though she spent most of her days in her cabin and barely ever saw anyone but the Hound, Sansa still liked to look beautiful and always took good care of her appearance. To do so was ingrained in her far too deeply for her to stop no matter the situation, it seemed.

Sansa had only just sat back into her armchair when she heard a key fumbling in the lock of her door, Sandor opening it almost just as soon. He was wearing his dark brown cloak with his hood up and had a pair of black leather gloves on.

"Little bird," he called, sounding faintly excited. The half part of his face was darkened by the shadow of his cowl but she could clearly see his eyes were gleaming and he had a small smirk on his lips. "Come on to the deck with me. I've got something to show you."

Sansa peered at him with curiosity and stood from her seat.

"Here, little bird. It's cold," the Hound said, taking Sansa's fur cloak from the hook on the wall and placing it over her shoulders. A hand on the nape her of neck, he directed out the door. "Let's go now."

Their door locked, they walked through the dark alley that led to the stairs, the wooden floor creaking with each of their steps. The sea was quiet today. Sansa could tell by the slow and steady movement of the ship underfoot. So far, they had been lucky never to face any storm and most days were as peaceful as this one, yet even that could often prove too much for Sansa. As they climbed up the stairs, the light coming through the doorway that led to the deck was blinding in contrast to the dimness of the corridor. Squinting, the girl got on the landing, gasping at what she saw.

"Oh! It's so beautiful!" Sansa cried as she beheld the pure, white snow that covered the deck everywhere. She had not seen snow in so long!

Big snowflakes were still lazily falling from a sky so white, it seemed as if it was made of snow and she giggled as one landed on the side of her nose. There was not even a breeze in the air, it was so serene and beautiful.

"It's wonderful!" Sansa exclaimed happily, taking a few steps to leave the stairs' landing and get onto the main deck. The snow was thin and light, she realised. Perhaps around two inches or so.

"The captain told me snow is not that common at sea," the Hound commented from behind her, sounding pleased with himself. "I knew you'd like this."

A wide smile on her lips, Sansa glanced at him and nodded before walking toward the railing. Laying her hands on the freezing handrail, she leaned against the structure and gazed down at the sea. It was quiet, though certainly far from totally flat and as the snowflakes felled over the swirling green waves, they were absorbed into the water and lost to the eyes forever. As Sandor had warned her, the air was cold but it was as fresh and crisp as Sansa remembered from the North. Leaving the railing, she took a long, deep breath of it.

For the few minutes that followed, she strolled about the place, her face cast upward and gaze lost in the surprisingly bright white sky, enjoying the feel of snowflakes falling on her face. Always a few steps behind her, the Hound was watching her in silence, his dark, towering shape like a tall shadow by her side.

The main deck where they were was empty apart from the two of them, the crew being busy working on the forecastle and quarter deck. Every now and then, Sansa could see out the corner of her eyes a sailor stop in his work to peek her way but she didn't care if they believed her foolish for twirling around like a child. She was too happy to let anything bother her.

Sansa headed toward the forecastle, where the snow was at its thickest. Crouching down, she began tracing the shape of a wolf in the snow with her fingers, all the while humming one of the northern songs she remembered from her childhood. She was adding the vague outline of a bird flying over the wolf when she suddenly felt her cowl being pulled down and before she knew it, something incredibly cold fell down her neck. Letting out a cry, Sansa instantly lifted her hands to her collar to try to take whatever had fallen there out, and turned over to see the Hound bowed above her, his face split in a roguish grin.

"Oh!" Sansa exclaimed, affronted. Hurriedly, she attempted to remove all the snow Sandor had put down her neck but it was impossible now that most of it had melted against the warmth of her skin.

Fuming, she looked up at him in disbelief, her irritation only getting worse as she saw how her outrage was so obviously amusing him even more. A smirk plastered on his lips, he was sniggering with a very detestable self-satisfied air about him.

Before he had a chance to straighten his back, Sansa discreetly took a handful of snow in the hand she had hidden behind her and rolled it in a ball as best she could. Then, she jumped up and raised her hand towards the man's neck, however, he blocked her wrist with his open palm before she could get there and rose to his full height. Sansa threw the snowball, frustration taking over her as she saw it only hit him very weakly over the chest.

"Missed your target, little bird?" the Hound chaffed, a wicked spark passing through his eyes.

Exhaling loudly, Sansa bent down to pick up a new handful of snow and stood up just as soon, yet as she tried once more to reach the Hound's neck, he stopped her again, this time by taking both of her wrists in his hands. The snow Sansa had held fell from her fingers and she began squirming in his clutches.

"Oh come on now, little bird, stop that. You're not going to win and you know it. Why should you keep on fighting?" the man asked, mirth lacing his rough voice as he watched her vainly struggle in his hold.

"Because it's not fair!" Sansa retorted, still struggling against his hold. "You shouldn't attack those you know are no match for you!"

Laughing hoarsely, Sandor pushed her back against the forecastle's wall to immobilise her completely. "But life is not fair, little bird. Don't pretend like you don't know it."

"You still should be nicer to me," Sansa reproached in a murmur, gazing up at him sadly. "Now my neck is all cold and wet because of you!"

The Hound snorted. "Poor little bird," he said, his tone mocking. "I'll fix that for you. Show you just how _nice_ I can be."

Lowering his face to her neck, he blew hot breath into her hair and laid a trail of warm and wet kisses over her cool skin. Both of his hands released her wrists and he slid them around her waist to stroke her there.

It felt good and so Sansa instinctively tilted her head aside to give him better access and arched her back into him, yet just as she did, Sandor pushed his erection against her. Her eyes growing wide at once, she inhaled deeply as warmth pooled in her lower belly. The Hound raised a hand to her ribs, his fingers brushing the lower curve of one of her breasts, and he bucked his hips to press his manhood even harder against her.

"Sandor… not here!" Sansa murmured, coming back to her senses at last. "What if the crew -"

"No one has seen, Sansa," the Hound rasped lowly as he pulled back from her. He was still too close for propriety and gazing down at her with undeniable lust, his mouth slightly opened. "Come, let's go to the cabin now," he urged her, a hand closing around her elbow and yanking her after him.

Sansa did as he bid her and started walking with him. Her loins were throbbing with anticipation and she could tell her cheeks were bright red. As they strode through the main deck, she could feel the stares of some of the crew members on them, certain that they all knew exactly why they were heading so eagerly to the stairs.

Ever since they had boarded the _Travelling Titan_, they had progressively gotten less and less careful to keep the nature of their relationship hidden. It was far from the first time Sandor touched her inappropriately while they were on the deck. Whenever Sansa voiced her concern that they were being too conspicuous, he always assured her she was worrying for nothing. That even if anyone of the crew had noticed anything, none of them spoke more than a few words of the common tongue anyhow and thus that they couldn't spread rumours once they got to White Harbour. Only the captain did, but Sandor had told her he would give him a few gold dragons to buy his silence before they left the ship if he felt it was necessary.

When they finally reached their cabin, the Hound locked the door behind them and immediately started undressing himself. Sansa did the same, removing her fur cloak and boots first before hurriedly undoing the laces of her dress. She pulled it over her head and threw it to the floor by her side and was about to remove her shift also when she saw Sandor was walking her way, as naked as on his name day.

"Sit down," he told her, both of his hands on her shoulders to push her down over the bunk.

In her new position, Sansa had his stiff and imposing manhood right in her face. Sandor gently buried his fingers in her hair and directed her toward it. No words were necessary for her to guess what he wanted from her.

Her cheeks burning, Sansa shut her eyes and took his member in her mouth, her lips and tongue sliding around it exactly as she knew he loved. She helped herself with her hand, holding his erection with it and moving her closed palm around his width. The man was groaning and breathing heavily, one of his forearms leaned against the upper bunk. With the hand he had in her hair, he was guiding both her movement on him and his own very faint thrusts in her mouth, his thumb brushing her cheek softly.

Sansa had been absolutely mortified the first time the Hound had asked her to do this to him. She had found it degrading and hated it at first but as with all the rest, she had eventually gotten used to it. In spite of that, to service him that way was still more embarrassing to Sansa than any other request he made her. She did not dislike it though. She could best feel how big and hard he was when she had him in her mouth and that never failed to increase the pressure in her lower belly.

"Gods, you're good at that, girl… you know how to suck a man," Sandor breathed, pulling away from her just as Sansa's jaw was starting to ache. She blushed, unsure if she should feel flattered by such a lewd compliment.

Letting himself fall over the bunk's thin straw mattress, Sandor sat up with his back against the wall and yanked Sansa over his lap. Then, he helped her remove her shift and smallclothes and soon, she was straddling him and his hardened shaft was sliding into her very moist entrance.

There was a time when Sansa used to feel awkward whenever the Hound made her ride him but things had changed since she had learned how easily she could rub her nub against him when in that position. Rolling her hips against his, she moaned at the delicious sensation it elicited, a gasp escaping her lips as Sandor started shoving himself in and out of her vigorously. If she was to straddle him, Sansa preferred that he sat up as he did just now, for it gave him more control over their intercourse and better access to her curves. Sansa loved to be possessed completely, to feel like not an inch of her skin could escape his dominance…

"Little bird, look at me," the Hound murmured, his voice huskier than ever.

Sansa met his eyes. His face was so near hers, she couldn't help but blush. It felt so terribly intimate… Shortly though, the man brought his lips to hers to kiss her passionately and with that, her shyness became but a distant memory.

Both her hands gripped his solid shoulders, and Sansa rocked her pelvis with each of Sandor's comings and goings into her cleft. Their bodies were flush and moving as one, his large hands keeping her against him as he continuously filled her with his member. The urgency with which he touched her everywhere was setting her core aflame and his warm and hungry mouth on hers only adding oil to the fire. It wouldn't be long for either of them, she could tell already. He was so hard in her and they were both so aroused…

And indeed moments later, Sansa was crying out in ecstasy, the Hound never halting in his claiming of her and stroking her bottom firmly as she came. Once her climax was over, he pushed her down on her back and got over her to thrust his swollen shaft into her slit. Restlessly, he pounded himself between her thighs, his rhythm never faltering until he had spilled himself in her and he was shaking and groaning in her arms.

They lazed in bed for a long time afterwards, seeing there was no reason for them to rush out of it. It wasn't like they had anything of importance to do. Their bunk was not very large and so as he rested on his back, Sandor was occupying almost all of its space and Sansa had to lie half over him. They always slept flush against each other for that reason but it didn't bother her in the least. Their cabin could get pretty cold once darkness had fallen and she was grateful for the warmth he brought her.

An arm wrapped around her, the Hound was softly caressing Sansa's back. She had her head leaned on his shoulder, one of her hands resting on his torso. A blanket was pulled over them, keeping them warm and comfortable.

"Sandor? Do you think we're getting near White Harbour?" Sansa asked after a few minutes of silence. "I have not seen snow since I've left Winterfell. It must mean we're getting close to the North. Or perhaps are we there already? Have you asked the captain?"

"I did. He told me we were getting near the Fingers. I think the snow has as much to do with winter's arrival as with our approach to White Harbour."

"It was so pretty," Sansa whispered dreamily, a smile on her lips.

Sandor snorted dryly, same as if he believed she had just said something stupid.

"You didn't think it was?" Sansa asked. Puzzled, she tilted her head to glance at him.

"It's not that, little bird. You're just always so spirited, forever looking on the bright side of everything," the Hound replied, meeting her eyes with his. "You probably won't call snow _pretty_ once were in the thick of winter though. That light summer snow you get sometimes in the North and what we've just seen, it's nothing against what's coming."

Sighing, Sansa readjusted her position against Sandor to better gaze at him. "I've never known winter. It's hard for me to imagine how it is," she told him softly. "Do you remember what winter is like? Have you known many?"

Sandor exhaled tiredly and peered sideway to stare out the porthole. Its glass was covered with melting snowflakes, new ones joining the old every few seconds. "There've been two in my lifespan, the first one being at the time of my birth. It lasted a few years and so I have some memories of it but they aren't very clear." He paused then, obviously lost in his thoughts. "The other though, I remember well enough. Usually, winter's not so bad. So long as you have a place to stay. So long as you're not travelling on your own with nothing but a poxy fur cloak, some stinking blankets and not even a tent to call your own."

Even though he had spoken calmly, there had been undeniable bitterness in his tone. It was obvious he was remembering something. Sansa leaned her head on his shoulder again, her hand gently caressing his chest, ready to listen. "Something happened?" she prompted quietly.

"Of course, what do you think? Shit always happens, little bird. That's how life is, isn't?" the Hound rasped flatly, something akin to scorn in his gravelly voice. With his fingers, he started stroking Sansa's back. "We were at the thick of winter when my father brought Gregor with him along with a few men to hunt. My father came back a corpse, his body thrown over the back of a horse as carelessly as if he'd been the trophy they were meant to bring back, the side of his head crushed and bloodied. Gregor said he had fallen from his mount as they chased a deer and hit his head against a rock covered with ice and since no one was with them when it happened, nobody questioned his story." His upper lip curling into a sneer, Sandor let out a short, humourless laugh. "Who would contradict Gregor anyway?" he spat before continuing just as flatly as before. "I fled the following dawn, even before my father's body had been cleaned and changed. I knew I'd be next if I stayed much longer. It was snowing heavily on that morning. I had a horse, a bedroll and some food with me but I was not dressed properly for the journey I had ahead."

"Where did you go?" Sansa demanded, nervous about what would come next even though she knew these were recollections of a time long passed.

"To Casterly Rock of course. I had nowhere else to head to. I had no family apart from Gregor, no friends either. I had seen Tywin Lannister on a few occasions and since he was my father's liege lord, I thought I could offer my services to him. I needed to get there first though."

"Is it very far from your family's keep?"

"Not much. A few days ride perhaps. But in a snowstorm, it took me more than a week. I thought I'd never make it and die at one point. There were days where I didn't even see a few yards in front of me and nights where it was so cold, I didn't know if I would wake up the next morning. I've never seen so much snow in my life. At moment it was all I saw really."

"But you made it?" Sansa asked, lifting her head from his shoulder to look at him. From the angle he was at, all she could see was the burnt side of his face, hideous as always in the wan morning light. That was more of his brother's work, she remembered. He had told her about it, a long time ago.

"Of course I did, I'm here, am I not?" the Hound answered, gently tapping her back as if he wanted to prove it to her. "The horse didn't though."

"Oh…" Sansa let out sadly.

"I awoke one morning and he was as stiff as a piece of wood. Don't know why the seven hells I survived myself. But I did. Not long after, I arrived at Casterly Rock, starving, stinking and so bloody thirsty and hungry. Yet I was alive - for what it was worth," he added dismissively.

"But aren't you happy to be alive?" Sansa inquired, shaken by his confidence.

Sandor snorted. "Sometimes. When I drink, eat a good meal, kill a man… _or fuck_," he rasped, glancing slyly at her.

Sansa blushed but in a twisted way, she was glad to know she could help him appreciate life after all the horrors he had known. Her belly even fluttered at the thought. "How old were you?" she added as an afterthought.

"Two and ten."

"Oh…" Sansa whispered dejectedly.

Two and ten, that was not much younger than she was. At that age, Sandor had already gone through certainly at least as many ordeals as she had herself. It was easy for Sansa to empathise with him. In the end no matter how different they may seem, they both had had similar fates in that they had been forced to endure many hardships at a very young age and been on their own long before anyone should ever be. Yet at least in her case, she had not suffered at the hands of her own blood and was heading back to what remained of her family. And she knew they would welcome her back. The same couldn't be said about him.

While the Hound had kept a nonchalant façade as he shared his story with her, Sansa was not fooled. She knew thinking back on all of this couldn't have been pleasant for him. She longed to comfort him, to show him she understood and that she was there for him. There was only one way to do this that she knew of and so, without any hesitation, she closed her arms around him as affectionately as she could and lowered her head to his shoulder. The man stiffened a little at first but while he didn't return her embrace, he didn't refuse it either and that was enough to convince her he appreciated the gesture. Sansa shut her eyes and smiled faintly to herself. No matter how harsh and brutish he may be, the Hound was still a man and every man deserved the comfort only a gentle touch could provide. As heartbreaking as it was, there was really no knowing if he had ever received tenderness before her.

* * *

"Feeling better now?" Sandor asked on the following morning as Sansa straightened her back to sit on her heels. She was installed over the floor in the corner of their cabin, just in front of the chamber pot.

"Yes," she replied weakly while standing up, her legs unsteady under her.

Sandor raised his good eyebrow at her, clearly unconvinced, but he kept his doubts to himself and resumed oiling his chain mail shirt.

Sansa had been working on her embroidery when a feeling of nausea had suddenly overcome her and she had run to the chamber pot to vomit. She felt better now thankfully. After having taken a long drink of water from the mug settled over the chest of drawers, she walked back to her armchair and sunk back into it. She was still a little dizzy but she took her embroidery and needle in hand to continue her work anyway, hoping that keeping herself busy would help.

The Hound was installed over their bunk, half lying, half sitting with all of their pillows and some of their blankets bunched up behind his back. Every now and then, Sansa could hear him curse as he kept oiling his chain mail shirt, clearly dissatisfied with the state of it. "This is good for nothing. All rusted," he complained after a few minutes of that. Exhaling in frustration, he tossed the shirt to the floor by the side of the bunk. "All that rain we've had has ruined it. I'll have no choice but to order a new once we'll be at White Harbour."

Sansa nodded distractedly, her eyes on her stitches.

"Shouldn't be so long before we get there now. The captain told me yesterday we'll soon have the Fingers by our side," Sandor reminded her, his voice low and unhurried. "If we're lucky, we could arrive in just over a week – or so he pretends. Let's play safe and say we'll be there in a fortnight. We're halfway through then."

"Oh… only _halfway_?" Sansa murmured despondently, briefly glancing his way. After having seen snow on the deck yesterday, she had started to hope they might reach White Harbour in just a few days. The prospect of spending another fortnight on the _Travelling Titan_ was far from appealing to Sansa. She had had enough of being sick every single morning.

At hearing the dejection in her voice, the Hound barked a rough laugh and gazed at her through narrowed eyes. He had both his arms folded behind his head and his ankles were crossed at the end of the bunk, his booted feet hanging in the air. "Another fortnight's not so long, little bird. You're lucky we didn't take a ship from King's Landing to begin with. The journey over sea would've been ever longer then."

Sansa sighed and a small frown creased her brow but she kept silent and continued working on her embroidery. While there was no way she could deny Sandor's assertion, she was also very aware that they'd have made much better time had they boarded a ship from the capital. If they had, chances were they would have already arrived at Winterfell, or would be just about to, and her seasickness would be but a bad memory by now. It would certainly have been worth the trouble, yet she was not about to point that out to the Hound.

With the horrible weather they had encountered, travelling by land had taken them much longer than planned. And to add to that, they had lost weeks waiting in both Maidenpool and Lord Harroway's Town, first for the rain to stop and then for the _Travelling Titan_ to arrive… They had left King's Landing ages ago it seemed. Sansa had lost count of the exact number of weeks that had passed since then. It had been more than two moons to be sure, though not so much as three and-

"Ouch!" Sansa exclaimed at the sharp flash of pain that jolted through her finger. Gazing down, she tossed her embroidery over her lap to realise she had inadvertently stabbed her needle deep into the skin of her index finger.

That's what she got for her distraction, she thought, annoyed at herself, as she raised her hand to better gaze at her wound. A small drop of blood was pearling at the tip of her finger. It was red and shiny, the dark hue quite striking against the paleness of her skin. Sansa stared at it for an instant, her heartbeat accelerating.

_My moon's blood! _The words abruptly formed in her mind, so unexpected it almost felt as if they hadn't been hers. Her eyes growing wide and mouth opening breathlessly, she flinched back into her seat before becoming as still as a statue. _Gods! How… how have I ever forgotten about this? _Sansa wondered as panic hastily built in her. Her whole body tensing, she kept her gaze fixed on the drop of blood on her finger, the outside word swiftly fading into naught but an indistinct fog around her.

Approximately two moons and a half had passed since she and the Hound had left King's Landing. Two moons and a half during which Sansa had never even seen a _single_ drop of blood in her smallclothes. Her last moon's blood dated perhaps a week before their departure, if she remembered correctly. It seemed so long ago…

_But I've never been regular! I'm worrying for nothing! _She tried to reason, tears welling in her eyes. However no matter how she'd have wished it otherwise, that was wrong and she knew it. Never before had her moon's blood been so late! Worst of all though, she had been lying with a man, _every single day_ for the last two moons…

The driblet of blood at the tip of Sansa's finger chose that moment to roll down her palm, drawing attention to how badly her hand shook. Sansa dropped it to her knees to still it, her pulse resounding loudly in her ears._ But I'm too young! It's not possible! I can't be… be…_

But no, she had flowered and that was all that mattered. And she had been sick in the morning, exactly like Mother used to be when she carried Rickon, she suddenly remembered, her dismay growing so strong at the memory that she felt as if she was going to be ill all over again.

"Don't worry, Sansa," Mother's faraway voice came back to her. "This is something most women must go through when in my state. Being sick a few hours every day is a small price to pay for the joy of becoming a mother," she had told her many years ago, one morning that she had rejoined her to her chamber and found her unwell.

_A mother?_ Sansa thought disbelievingly, her lips quivering. This couldn't be true! It was far too horrible for that! _And yet it is_, she admitted to herself, laying a hand over her deceptively flat stomach. Somehow she knew it, as much as she had ever known anything. _She was with child!_

Her head spinning, Sansa bit hard at her lip, tears rolling uncontrollably down her cheeks. Heat was rising to her face and her heart was pounding violently in her chest. Unsure what to do with herself, she bent over and lowered her face into her trembling hands, a sob escaping her lips, quickly followed by a series of muted cries.

"What is it, Sansa?" the Hound asked from his place over the bunk, sounding vaguely worried.

Sansa didn't reply and continued whimpering in her hands instead, her breathing growing so out of control, she felt as if she might choke.

"Little bird?" Sandor called, rising to his feet and taking a few steps toward her. "Little bird?" he repeated in a mix of impatience and concern when she didn't answer again. "Are you feeling sick? You want me to get you something in the kitchens?"

Sansa shook her head but kept it down over her open palms. _If only it was as simple as that! _she mused, a new surge of tears welling in her eyes. Her hands and face were all covered with them now.

"Tell me what it is, Sansa!" the Hound bid her, his tone harsh.

Even if it had been her wish, Sansa wouldn't have been able to utter a single word with the way her throat was closed almost painfully. But she was in no mood to speak anyway. The last thing she wanted at that instant was to share her newfound secret with Sandor. Somehow, she was too abashed to admit it to him. She feared his reaction, was afraid he would judge her for it.

Sighing with very obvious irritation, the Hound brusquely kneeled before her and pushed her against the back of the seat with a hand on her shoulder. Sansa had not expected it and her hands stayed lowered before her chest. She brought them over her lap, her palms closing into tight fists.

"Now, by the damned Stranger, will you speak or not?" Sandor snarled, seizing her chin between his fingers and thumb to force her to look at him. "I can't help you if you won't tell me what the fuck is wrong with you!"

Squeezing her eyes shut, Sansa let out something in-between a sob and a gasp. She couldn't bear to gaze at him just now. All she wanted was for him to leave her alone, for herself to disappear… and for the whole world to dissolve!

"_Speak!_" Sandor growled, shaking her with the hand he had on her shoulder. She could tell he was getting really angry.

Sniffing, Sansa inhaled deeply and opened her now very swollen eyes to look at him. His face was at only a few inches from hers and he was frowning severely at her.

"I'm… I'm with child," she told him in the smallest of whispers, her voice breaking on the last word.

From exasperated, the Hound's expression became suddenly unreadable, as cold as a block of ice. The hands he had on her shoulder and chin loosened. "With child…?" he repeated as if he could not understand the meaning of the words.

Sansa nodded, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

The man removed his hands from her altogether. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice flat and yet filled with incredulity, as if he believed she was all making this up.

"Yes!" Sansa squeaked, piqued by his doubt. She exploded then and started crying as pitifully as a child. "I am, Sandor! I haven't had my moon's blood since before we've left King's Landing and… and now, I've been sick in the mornings, exactly like my Lady Mother used to be when she was expecting my youngest brother! Oh gods! What will I do?" she exclaimed, sobbing just as she spoke.

A bemused expression on his face, Sandor got to his full height, as wearily as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. For a long time it seemed, he stood before her, most certainly lost in his thoughts as Sansa's cries filled the cabin.

While she had known herself to be soiled before, the girl had grown used to the idea over the last two moons. Naively, she had hoped that by lying and playing the role of the innocent maiden her family was expecting well enough, no one would realise what she had become when she got to Winterfell. Of course Sansa had lost her maidenhead, but she would probably not marry before at least a few years and when she would, there were high chances her future husband wouldn't even notice the lack of blood when he claimed his right on her. Or at least, that's what she had hoped. Now though, her life was truly over. She carried the Hound's bastard and who would want of her after that? Not even her family could accept something so shameful! She was good for nothing now! _Nothing!_

Pausing in her sobs, Sansa gazed up at Sandor through her tears. He was looking out the porthole, his features pulled in a preoccupied scowl and jaw clenched tightly. The burnt corner of his mouth was twitching, same as it did whenever he was annoyed, but apart from that he was almost motionless. For some reason, to see the Hound so calm when she was going through one of the most distressing moment of her life sent a wave of anger like she had never experienced before rushing through Sansa. Without thinking it over, she abruptly stood from her seat and threw herself at him. With closed fists, she started hitting him over the chest as hard as she could.

"_Why?!_ Why did you do this to me? You _ruined_ me! _Why did you_ _do this_?!" she wailed in a mix of resentment and despair, a new flow of tears running down her cheeks.

Taken aback by such an uncharacteristic eruption from her, the Hound stayed still for a few heartbeats, his stare lowered on Sansa as she kept on blindly banging at his torso, her sobs now as loud as yells. Yet, he quickly shook himself and seized both of her wrists in his hands. Twirling her around, he pushed her down sideway over the bunk and immobilised her with his body, one of his hands going over her mouth to muffle her cries. His eyes were wide and white, at once bewildered and furious.

"Are you _fucking crazy_, little bird?! Stop screaming! Do you want the whole bloody crew to think I beat you or something?! Seven buggering hells!" he hissed in her face.

At that Sansa shut her eyes, regretting her outburst already. What had she gained by it after all? She continued crying, though more quietly now.

For a few additional seconds, the Hound kept his hand over her mouth, waiting. "You won't scream now?" he asked dryly when he surmised the worst of her crisis had passed.

Sansa shook her head and he removed his palm from her mouth before rolling onto his back by her side. They were both sideway over the bunk and the Hound, being so tall, only had his back resting over the mattress. He lifted both his hands to his head to rub his face and temples.

"Seven hells, Sansa…" he muttered, sounding exhausted. "I'll take the blame. I admit I should've been more careful. Spilling my seed in you like I did, it wasn't very smart." He snorted then. "Not smart at all."

Sansa didn't add anything to that. Her agony was far too overwhelming for her to truly be attentive to his words. She could barely form a single thought in her mind and felt like no more than an empty shell.

For a long time it seemed, nothing existed but the soft sound of her weeping yet at one point, the Hound sighed heavily and sat up. "Move over, girl. Give me some space," he demanded.

With a hand on her shoulder, he helped her sit up as well and installed himself to his full length over the bunk, pulling her against him afterwards. In dire need for comfort, Sansa didn't resist and leaned the side of her tear-covered face against his shoulder, sniffing loudly.

"Here, little bird," Sandor said almost as soon, twisting around to fumble between the mattress and the wall. Once he found his handkerchief, he handed it to Sansa. "Blow that nose of yours and dry your face now. It'll do you some good. To you and my tunic both."

Sansa did as he asked, not caring if she appeared inelegant with the sounds she made. After everything she'd been through by the Hound's side and all the different states of emotions he'd seen her in since they had left the Red Keep, to try to act ladylike just now would've not only been foolish but pointless. Her pride was of no use with this man.

Once she was done blowing her nose, Sansa made to give Sandor back his handkerchief but he shook his head and snorted softly. "Keep it," he told her. Staring down at her attentively, he was lying on his side with his head resting in his hand, his mind clearly busy. "You're not ruined you know, girl. Not necessarily," he said after an instant of studying her. "There's nothing that can't be fixed."

Confused, Sansa eyed him with curiosity. "What… what do you mean?" she asked.

"You think you're he first maiden to get with child like that? There are plenty of others like you, and even some at court to be sure," Sandor continued, his tone low and demeanour serious. "There are ways around all of this you know. The child doesn't have to be allowed to grow. Once we're out of this ship, we'll find you a midwife, an herbalist, a bloody witch – I don't fucking care! – but we'll find someone to sell us that moon tea I've heard you females drink when a babe's not wanted. That should do it."

Sansa froze at that, the last of her sobs suddenly stuck in her throat.

She had sometimes heard servants and kitchen maids speak about what the Hound was referring to when no one believed her to be there to listen. She knew a special tea could be brewed to prevent women from getting big even as they gave their virtue to a man… and that if brewed stronger, it could even kill a child in its mother's womb before it had time to fully form.

Sansa had always deemed it horrible that any woman could be so callous as to willingly rid herself of her own unborn child, however now, the idea that this option could be hers was strangely soothing. She was too young to be a mother and her family… what would they think of her if they learned how low she had fallen? _They don't have to know. Sandor is right. Perhaps this is the best idea… _she thought uneasily.

"In the end, you can consider yourself lucky to have become aware of your state while we're still on this ship," the Hound added after a moment of silence. "No one but me has witnessed that outburst you just had after all. Could've been even worse: imagine if you'd have realised it while staying at fat Lord Manderly's castle? What do you think your handmaidens would've made of all that crying and screaming?" He paused to narrow his eyes at her, the tone of his voice almost threatening now. "And how the fuck do you think I could've brought you that moon tea you need without anyone noticing? Besides, what's even more likely is that with your new entourage, you simply wouldn't have been able to find me alone and inform me about it at all. Chances are, you'd have ended up growing big _right before their bloody eyes_. At least now, you won't have to suffer through any of that."

A shudder went down Sansa's back at the notion of what might have been. In a way, he was right and she had indeed been lucky in spite of her misfortune. It could've been even worse for her. "We'll still need to announce ourselves to Lord Manderly when we'll arrive to White Harbour though," Sansa reminded him, her voice sounding distant to her own ears, as if it wasn't even hers. "You're going to need to be fast and find moon tea for me almost as we disembark. Lord Manderly will want us to stay at his castle and-"

"No, Sansa," Sandor cut her sternly, his stare boring into hers. "No one's expecting us in White Harbour. No one knows were coming this way, remember? Their ignorance is our best asset and we need to use it."

Sansa kept quiet and listened, her tears now completely dried up and eyes wide open.

"Our best course of action is to not spend even a single night in town and leave as soon as we arrive. We'll find a secluded place – a hamlet or a farm – where it'll be easier for me to keep people from talking. In White Harbour with the face I have, you can be sure our presence would be noticed by many from the moment I'd step foot into the streets. There would be no way I could keep track of everyone I'd came across, and Lord Manderly would be informed of our arrival in the blink of an eye. Before we'd know it, there'd be a messenger knocking at our inn's door and with that, no time for you to take the moon tea in peace. On the other hand, if we're isolated, I'll better be able to control those I speak to and we'll meet less people to begin with. And of course, I'll pay those we're in contact with to stay quiet afterwards." At that, Sandor lowered his head over the pillow and turned onto his back, pulling Sansa against him. "That's the way we have to go, Sansa. No other choice," he added with an air of finality.

Sansa sighed anxiously, her whole body shivering against him. She felt nauseous again and so very tired. She wanted nothing more than to sleep and disappear from the surface of Westeros to be elsewhere. Somewhere where she didn't have to think about any of this. Still since reality couldn't be escaped, she nodded her accord and buried her face into the Hound's chest.

"It'll be alright, Sansa," the man rasped, caressing her hair.

Shutting her eyes, Sansa bit hard at her lip and pressed herself against him, hoping he was right and that his plan would work.


	10. Chapter 10

_Hi everyone! Sorry for the long wait since last chapter but the holidays kept me busy and then, this chapter… well it was a bit of a pain to write tbh. Here it is now though! My longest yet (again)! I hope you enjoy and please don't hesitate to share your thoughts about it with me! :D_

_THANK YOU TO THE WONDERFUL LEIGH OF OLDSTONE! She's really the greatest beta! :D_

* * *

There was snow falling over the land ahead and that was about all they could see. The castle could be very faintly discerned though. They were getting near White Harbour, dangerously so.

"In how long will we be there?" the little bird asked. She had her hood up and held her cloak closed tightly around herself. It was quite cold and windy over the deck today but the snow didn't reach the sea, unlike that other time a fortnight before.

"An hour or two. But as I told you already, we won't leave the ship before dawn. We need to escape the city unnoticed," Sandor replied, looking down at her pretty face.

The little bird's dainty features were tense and very faint dark circles were visible under her eyes. It was clear she was tired but she had been ever since they had left Maidenpool.

The poor girl was not made for sea travel and it had been obvious from the moment they had embarked the_ Travelling Titan. _Almost everyday of the moon that had taken their voyage, she had been sick as she awoke and needed to stay abed for a couple of hours as she waited for it to pass. Though from what Sansa had told him, it was not the sea which made her queasy anymore but the child that grew in her belly. A child _he_ had put there.

Sighing, Sandor gazed down at where her still very flat stomach was hidden under her rich fur cloak. Looking at her, nobody would ever have guessed her state and it was often hard even for him to believe it was true. It was not that he distrusted the girl. She had no reason to lie about this after all and besides, with the way she had cried her eyes out on the day she had learned about it, there was no questioning her genuineness. Yet her body was still exactly the same as it had been the day he'd taken her maidenhead. Sansa claimed that her breasts had gotten slightly bigger but Sandor had not noticed any change. She also said they were more sensitive and so he was more careful with them and didn't pinch and bite at her nipples anymore, only caressed and sucked at them softly.

Looking back, there was no denying Sandor should've known better than to spill his seed in the little bird as he had so recklessly done for the last two moons. He should've pulled out before he came but that was not something he was used to doing. All through his life, he had only ever slept with whores and no whore worthy of the name would ever ask such a thing of a customer. A man didn't spend his hard-earned gold on a woman only to be told he had to fuck his hand as his climax hit him and spill his semen on his fingers. It was part of a whore's job to avoid getting big without lessening her patron's pleasure and so Sandor had never lost even an instant of his time wondering if the women he fucked had taken all the measures they should to prevent any unwanted surprise later on.

In the end, it was only logical that it be incumbent upon women to take care of these matters. Men didn't have a mind for such things - as the current situation proved quite clearly. Only with the little bird being so young and innocent, Sandor couldn't have expected her to take on the responsibility and it had thus fallen on his shoulders. The burnt corner of his mouth twitching, he exhaled loudly through his nose. That hadn't worked out so well, hadn't it? It had been a bloody disaster even, yet how the fuck was he supposed to pull out in time when all his instincts told him he should do the opposite? There was nothing natural about withdrawing from the girl's warm depths to spend himself in the cold air outside. He hadn't managed it the first time he lost it with her and when he had taken her again on the following night, there had been no sense in depriving himself so soon after his slip. What harm just one more ration of his semen could do? But then after that, he had never been able to stop and ended up ignoring the risk he was taking altogether. And so here they were now.

"Do you think all will go according to your plan, Sandor?" Sansa asked after a long moment of silence, boring her deep blue eyes into his. There was a sad, insecure glow in them, yet in the mist of it all, there was also something very trusting. The little bird relied on him completely and the notion that she was putting her fate in his hands was oddly gratifying to Sandor, like very few things had been over the years. In some twisted way, he wanted to do right by her, for what it was worth at this point.

"It will, little bird. I've told you so, haven't I?" he reminded her.

"I know. I'm just so scared."

"Don't be. I'm taking care of this," the man assured. Lifting a hand to the nape of her neck to massage her through her cloak, he pulled her against him, not caring if anyone of the ship's crew saw.

The girl didn't seem to mind either. She even raised her hand to stroke him very briefly over the torso and leaned her head against his chest.

"We should go down to our cabin now," Sandor prompted. "Don't want to be spotted on the deck by anyone as we approach White Harbour."

Sansa nodded and they both headed to the stairs.

As she went down before him, Sandor kept his gaze on her, the feminine shape of her body visible in spite of all the layers she wore. She was so beautiful, perfect in every bloody way... It was a real pity he would soon have to lose her.

"Go rest, Sansa. I'll go check on the horses, then fetch us something to eat. I'll be back in about an hour," Sandor told the little bird once they had reached their cabin's door.

Gazing up at him with doe eyes, she nodded and the man let her in the chamber, locking the door behind her afterwards. Then he headed for the lowest compartments of the ship where the horses were kept. Once he got there, he inspected them both. They seemed restless and edgy but otherwise in good shape considering the moon they had spent at sea. That was good given they would need to flee White Harbour the moment they left the vessel.

As he fed and brushed them both, Sandor let his mind wander and it inevitably fell on Sansa as it so often did, and had for longer than he cared to know whenever he had a moment to think. Only now instead of picturing her in all sorts of indecent situations, he was contemplating the prospect of having to let her go. The thought had grown gradually more present as the _Travelling Titan_ approached White Harbour. From feeling like he had all the time of the world before him as they travelled through the Riverlands, he now had to come to terms with the fact that they had reached the North and that his days with her were numbered.

_But you're stupid. So very stupid…_ he berated himself not for the first time, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching. She could've been his and easily at that if he had not been so bloody quick to suggest moon tea. And in fact if truth be told, she _was_ already his. A man didn't break a maiden's veil without gaining a sense of entitlement over her. He didn't claim her everyday for more than two moons without feeling he had attained the right to do so. She had become his woman by force of circumstance in a manner that no vow or ceremony could ever equal. The way she had so perfectly adapted to him was only more proof of that. From being this naïve and clueless maiden when he had had his first taste of her, she now always knew exactly how to please him, as if she had been made for his cock - _made for him_. And that pretty song she sang him so often now, well that was not one many women ever got to perform. She had adapted to him in that respect too. Yet as if all this wasn't enough, the girl would have grown heavy with his seed had he not provided her with an alternative and with that, she'd have been branded as his forever in a way that no one could ever deny. How stupid he had been not to shut his mouth.

The girl's reaction had been so extreme when she had realised she was with child that Sandor had not taken time to think it through. From the moment it had crossed his mind, he had shared with her his idea of giving her moon tea. All he had wanted right then was to soothe her by any mean possible and since the little bird had blamed him for ruining her mere minutes before, he had figured she would be happy for a way to eliminate all evidence of that. The child gone, no one would ever guess what they had been up to since that hot spring near Lord Harroway's Town. With the way she looked, talked and presented herself, who would take her for anything but the pure maiden she was supposed to be after all?

It hadn't been very long before Sandor realised the scale of his mistake. He might very well have lost the best chance he'd ever get to keep the girl for himself. If he had not presented her with the possibility of ridding herself of his bastard, he was convinced Sansa would have agreed to continue with him on the _Travelling Titan _and disembark at Bravos instead of White Harbour.

Indeed, what better place than Essos to hide away while they waited out the many moons it would take for the child to grow? Once she'd have given birth, they could have found the babe a foster family and gone back to Westeros or better still, keep it and remain in Essos together. After all, there wouldn't be much sense in Sansa abandoning her child to return to her family when it was written all over the bloody sky that her kingly brother would marry her off to a total stranger in no more than a year or two. She'd end up living her life away from Winterfell one way or another and so she'd be better off simply staying with Sandor and the child she already had. The little bird and he, they got along just fine, as much in the bedchamber as out of it, and that was more than most women ever got from marital life at all. He'd have made sure she never lacked for anything, provided for her and the babe and protected them better than many husbands did their family.

But Sandor had ruined his chances of that, just as he had ruined the girl. _It's better this way and you know it, dog. Stop complaining,_ he reminded himself. He had already thought it through before and long ago came to the conclusion that keeping her for himself to start a new life with her in Essos was a very bad idea, for it would lead to his death without a doubt. How the fuck would he be supposed to protect her then? Besides, what sort of life could he offer her if all they ever did was run from place to place with a flock of bounty hunters at their heels? He couldn't keep her safe in such conditions, or at least not as much as he'd have liked. That she was expecting his child didn't change any of this, not even one damned bit. It fact, it probably made it even worse. No matter how tempting the circumstances, the inevitable still remained. It couldn't work.

Leaving the horses, Sandor headed for the kitchens. They were on a faraway compartment of the ship, one that wasn't even truly part of it and could be dropped into the sea if ever a fire occurred. As he walked towards them, he kept clenching and unclenching his jaw and fists but then he sighed and relaxed a bit. For all the bad the girl being with child occasioned, it still had given him a good excuse not to announce their arrival to Lord Manderly when they docked at White Harbour. They would remain alone still, probably until they got to Winterfell and that was certainly to Sandor's advantage if he wished to keep sharing Sansa's bed during the little time he had left with her. He was not happy to bring one further ordeal upon her but he couldn't change what had already been done either, no more than he could deny it did play in his favour. As it was, he would make the most of the situation and keep a slow pace until they reached Winterfell. There would be no sense in him hurrying up too much.

* * *

It was still utterly dark when they woke up on the next morning. At candle light, both Sandor and the little bird dressed up and gathered their belongings. Sansa put on the warmest dress she possessed as Sandor had advised her. She braided her long hair and fixed it with a jewelled brooch before putting on her sapphire necklace. Both were his gifts and looked really nice on her but his favourite was the necklace. The stone had the same colour as her eyes; that's what had struck him when he'd first seen it in that shop in Maidenpool.

Afterwards, the little bird covered herself with the grey-white fur cloak he had bought for her when they were at Saltpans. That made Sandor smile to himself. He loved seeing her adorned in all the presents he had gotten her. To him, it was as if she admitted being his by doing so, as if she accepted him as her man.

"Warp a scarf over that pretty red hair of yours before we go. It wouldn't do for anyone to notice it," Sandor bid her, gently rolling a loose strand of her hair around his finger.

Sansa looked at him and nodded, a small, nervous smile on her lips. As she hid her hair, Sandor found an old woollen scarf of his own. He rolled it before his face and pulled his hood high over his head.

"Ready?" he asked.

She acquiesced and they headed for the lower compartment of the vessel where the horses were kept and then got over the deck with them. Sandor had already paid the captain on the previous evening and told him to keep their presence in the city a secret. The man had agreed and smiled of all his golden teeth as he bid him farewell, happy for the many extra coins a simple promise of silence had won him. Hopefully he could be trusted.

There was still hardly any light as they walked down the gangplank besides their mounts, which was a good thing, and the snowstorm of yesterday afternoon had ended somewhere during the night. Some lonely snowflakes were still falling here and there but otherwise, the sky was pretty clear. Once they reached solid ground, Sandor helped the little bird onto her mare and he swung himself over Stranger's saddle. The streets of White Harbour were empty as they crossed them. They barely met a soul. All around their mounts' hooves, the cobblestones were white with a heavy blanket of powdery snow and the gutters of the buildings were all adorned with long icicles. Winter had truly arrived to these lands.

Soon, they reached the city's gates. They had most likely just opened, for only a few men and women were gathered around them. The crowd was still pretty slim and mostly composed of peasants and small-time merchants hoping to sell their food and goods to the inhabitant of the city once the place truly awoke.

"Now look down, little bird," Sandor instructed her. "Be sure not to meet anyone's eyes and all should be fine."

She nodded and they slowly headed to the doors. No one was expecting them and thus people didn't seem to make a fuss out of their presence. Sandor did notice a few of the city guards peering their way, yet that didn't seem to rouse them out of their obvious boredom. Very slowly, they crossed the doorway with their faces downcast and as Sandor had hoped, no one stopped them.

When they were totally out of the guards' sight, the man breathed a sigh of relief.

"We're alright now, little bird," he announced. "Let's keep this pace for the moment and we'll hurry up a bit in a few minutes. We'll not exhaust the horses but I'd like us to be far when dusk falls."

The girl agreed and they kept on going.

* * *

The lands they travelled through during that day were all covered with snow. All around them, it was always forest, rocky hills or small lakes, punctuated with very few isolated villages, hamlets and farms. That was good. Sandor had hoped it would be this way. He had known the North was not as heavily populated as the Riverlands or the Westerlands where he was from but to see his presumption confirmed was still a relief. They would find a secluded place without a doubt, one perfect for him to discretely find moon tea and the little bird to take it in peace.

After having progressed over the main road for an hour or two, they changed paths and turned onto a smaller lane. There the population was even sparser, which was certainly to their advantage. Since the road itself was less travelled, the snow that covered it was not as compacted as it had been previously and only a faint trail was visible over it. It slowed them quite a bit, for the horses had to advance with more caution, but it wasn't so bad either and they managed to keep a satisfying pace considering the circumstances. Riding side by side as they had done earlier that day was not an option anymore and thus they stayed one in front of the other, Sansa first so that Sandor never lost sight of her. He felt safer this way.

While the sky wasn't blue, it wasn't grey either and the sunbeams that passed through the thick shroud of white clouds were relatively strong. The little bird seemed joyful enough. Anytime she twisted in her saddle to look at Sandor, she had a smile on her face and her eyes sparkled under her hood. She apparently couldn't stop herself from gazing all around as if she wished to take in every single detail of their surroundings. Many times, she pointed out trees to him - most of them conifers - telling him what they were called and whenever they glanced at birds or small animals, she shared her knowledge of them with him, speaking loudly so that he heard her well. Although she was still visibly tired and even queasy by moments, her delight of being at last out of the ship after a whole moon at sea overshadowed it all.

Twice in the morning, they were forced to stop because Sansa was feeling suddenly too nauseous to continue and needed to retch by the side of the road and both of them used the occasions to piss and stretch their legs a little. On one of these instances, they were met by a group of three men with snowshoes on their feet heading in the other direction. The little bird was still kneeling in the snow when they passed by and catching her breath after having emptied the contents of her stomach. Watching them approach, Sandor was standing a couple of yards away from her with his back leaned to a tall pine tree and his arms folded over his chest. They saluted him uneasily when they passed and asked Sansa if she was doing alright. Always so bloody courteous - even when she was being sick - she thanked them for their concern and told them she had eaten something rotten but was feeling better now. The men nodded and continued on their way, yet it was obvious their curiosity had been piqued by the scene. Sandor had his cowl up and his woollen scarf was still wrapped over the lower part of his face and therefore he couldn't be recognised but he and the girl must certainly have looked out of place in this lost little forest lane with the rich fur cloak she was wearing, his war horse and the long-sword he had sheathed at his hip.

Around noon, they halted again to have a bite and stood up in the knee deep snow as they ate. The horses were fed some grains Sandor had bought from the _Travelling Titan_ and while they waited for them to be done, Sansa laid on her back into the snow, her gaze lost in the sky above. It had gotten nearly blue by places and many sunbeams reached the forest floor, some of which fell directly over the girl.

"It's so good to be out and breathe some fresh air…. and it's so good to be back home," she murmured dreamily, her deep blue eyes striking under the sunlight. The skin of her face was almost as pale as the snow around her but the cold air had coloured her cheeks and the tip of her nose prettily.

"Winterfell's still a long way from here, little bird. In this snow, it might take us more than a moon to get there," Sandor informed her quietly, taking a step toward her.

Her full, pink lips closed at that, her smile gone. She had probably hoped her family's castle to be right around the corner and her disappointment to learn that it was not so was unmistakable. "We're still in the North," she whispered after a moment of silence, meeting his eyes with hers. "I feel more at home than I have in a very long time, just for that reason."

Uncertain of what he might add to that, Sandor only nodded and bent down over her. "Let's go now, little bird," he prompted, offering her his hands.

She accepted his help and her wool mittens disappeared almost completely under his large gloved hands as he lifted her up from the ground. When she was back on her feet, Sandor kept his hands closed around hers for an instant, his gaze slowly travelling over her beautiful face. For some reason, he was suddenly taken by an urge to kiss her, however he had already readjusted his scarf over his mouth and nose and so he only let go of her hands and caressed her cheek with his knuckles.

After that, they kept on going all through the afternoon and never stopped apart from one last time to make water and eat a piece of bread with some cheese. They met a few more travellers but in total, they probably didn't come across more than a dozen people. That was without counting the men, women and children they glimpsed shovelling snow or carrying firewood around their houses but those were seen from afar and too busy to truly notice them.

From mid-afternoon, the sunlight got gradually fainter and Sandor started to keep his eyes open for a good place for them to stay. The houses they came across were becoming increasingly few and far between and twice they progressed for almost an hour without seeing anything but trees and rocks. While that was perfect considering finding a secluded place was exactly what Sandor wished, it also made his selection harder for there was less to choose from and it augmented the risk that they ended up having to sleep in the open over the snow covered ground. Perhaps stopping at the last house they had passed by would have been a good idea in retrospect, yet at the time Sandor had thought it too small and dilapidated and the previous before that had been too crowded judging by the dozen of children playing around it. If they were to stay a few days at some place, he wanted the little bird to have a minimum of comfort at least. Though now, they would mayhap not even have a roof over their heads tonight. It wasn't a perspective Sandor was looking forward too, especially given the girl's state, yet if it had to come to that the weather wasn't that terrible either. At least there was no wind and the clouds were not too threatening. It would be only for one night anyway.

"If we don't find a place in half an hour from now, we'll stop to make camp," Sandor announced, his rough voice seeming all too loud in the eerie peacefulness of the woods. "We'll need a lot of firewood to keep us warm all through the night and so to continue longer than that and lose the last of the sunlight would be foolish."

The girl twisted into her saddle to glance at him and nodded slowly. From where he was a few yards behind her, Sandor could barely discern her face, her hood being pulled too high over her head, and he only very briefly glimpsed a flash of light reflected in the corner of one of her eyes before she turned back into her original position. Even with that, it was still easy to tell that despite her lack of protest, sleeping in the open was the last thing she wanted. With every degree of light they had lost over the last couple of hours, she had progressively grown more nervous and her previous good humour had gradually faded away.

"Oh! Look Sandor!" the little bird exclaimed only a few minutes later. I was the first time she had spoken in at least an hour. "A House! I think it's a farm!"

"A farm? Let's see," the man muttered to himself.

They kept going at the same relatively slow pace they had all through the afternoon, both of them staring at the group of buildings ahead. As Sansa had said, it was indeed a farm but a very modest one. The field was too small for its owner to be prosperous. There was what appeared to be a barn, a couple of sheds and a stable or cowshed behind the main building, as well as a second smaller house a little farther away. The first house was obviously inhabited judging by the smoke which came out of its chimney and the snow that had been shovelled all around it. Its walls were built from fieldstones and large timbers and its roof was made of what appeared to be cedar shakes, though it was now mostly covered with snow.

"I think this could do, little bird. What do you say?" Sandor asked.

"Yes," the girl answered weakly.

"Let's keep going a little longer just to be sure this place is as secluded as it seems. I'd rather there'd be no neighbour too near."

Although she was visibly not very enthusiastic to do so, the little bird nodded and they headed a little further down the lane. As they progressed, all they saw was forest and snow and after about the quarter of an hour, Sandor was satisfied and they turned back.

"We'll ask those people if they can shelter us for a few days," he started once they had the farm in sight again.

It was getting darker by then and they could see faint glimmers of light through the main house's small windows. As they arrived just in front of it, they halted and stood side by side for a moment, both their mounts snorting and puffing under them.

"Hopefully there'll be a woman living in this place. It would make it easier for us, with you needing moon tea and all," Sandor indicated, glancing at the little bird.

Her teeth chattering from the cold, Sansa nodded and they kept going.

A thin path had been dug into the snow to link the house to the lane and they followed it. When they arrived just in front of the building, Sandor jumped off from Stranger's back. Exactly as he did, the door opened, letting out an old cautious-looking woman accompanied by two younger men, presumably her sons. Both were skinny and relatively tall, especially when compared to the woman who was quite small and stocky. A large grey dog was with them also and it ran to Sandor and started barking and snarling at him.

"Come back here, Sooty! Come over here, boy!" the woman called just as soon, tapping on her thigh.

The dog was well bred for he obeyed from the moment the command was uttered, though with some reluctance, and came back to his mistress to stand at her feet.

"Please excuse my dog's poor welcome… ser and m'lady," the woman said after having let her gaze scan from Sandor to the little bird. She manifestly wasn't sure what to make of them. "I gather you're looking for a shelter to spend the cold night in?"

The lower part of Sandor's face was still covered with his scarf so she couldn't see his scars but the man knew how intimidating he was even without that with his height and bulk. While the woman was obviously on her guards, just the fact that she managed to look directly at him and that her voice had remained steady and strong as she addressed him told him she was not so easily impressed.

"We are," Sandor agreed.

As he spoke, his attention was caught by the two silent men that waited behind the woman and the sight of them made him wince. There was something wrong with them and it was easy to tell already with the way they were fidgeting on their long, lanky legs, their shoulders slumped and stare successively lowered to their feet and peeking with fear at Sandor. He had never seen two more useless looking human beings. No grown man should ever hide behind a woman as they did.

Their mother was more dignified. She kept her back straight and there was some pride in her bearing in spite of her humble appearance. A long dark woollen shawl was wrapped over her shoulders and she wore an old, white peasant cap over her hair with some unruly grey locks coming from under its sides. "We welcome travellers here but I warn you, we are poor people and have little to offer apart from our hospitality. I have some vegetable soup simmering in the hearth, yet that's all the food I can give you this evening," she informed Sandor all the while studying both him and the little bird with wary, little eyes.

"Don't worry. We're no brigands and I've no intention to steal what little you have," Sandor assured the woman after having surprised her peeking at his long-sword.

Her lips curved stiffly and she nodded but she didn't seem entirely convinced. "Good. Get in then, you both must be freezing. I know I am already. My sons will stable and feed your horses for you."

"I'll take care of my mount myself. He's not very friendly. But bring the girl in while I do so. I think she'll welcome a place by your fire," Sandor rasped, walking to the little bird.

"As you wish," the woman replied. "Boys, go fetch some hay in the barn and bring it to the stables, will you? And stay to help our guess afterwards," she demanded her sons.

"Y.. yes, Ma!" one of them stammered and they both headed behind the house.

Circling the girl's waist with his hands, Sandor helped her off her mare, her lithe frame shaking under his palms in spite of how warmly she was dressed. He eyes were wide and she fixed them on him as he brought her to the ground.

"Please, be back soon, Sandor. I'd rather not be left alone for too long," she whispered only for him to hear as her booted feet landed on the snowy ground.

"Don't be foolish, Sansa. That old woman's no danger to you."

"It's not that. It's just that I… I don't know what I should tell her. What if she asks me questions about us? Who should I tell her we are?"

"Just say as little as you can. I'll do the talking once I'm back, alright?" Sandor instructed her in a low voice.

Her brow knitting with concern, the little bird nodded, yet just as he thought she was going to leave, she craned her neck and leaned toward him again, speaking in a voice so soft he could barely hear it. "Sandor… will you… will you tell her about…

"Of course, that's why we're here, isn't?" he answered, slightly irked by all those questions she suddenly had.

"But couldn't it wait until tomorrow morning? If you ask her this evening and she says no, then I don't know what I'll do! I couldn't bear being looked at and judged all night for my… _my condition_," she breathed, her cheeks growing ablaze at the mere mention of it. "Oh please, Sandor! It's going to be embarrassing enough for me already if she learns about it in the morning. Leave me at least this evening to prepare myself!"

Sighing exasperatedly, Sandor bent over her until his face was only a few inches from hers. "But she won't refuse, little bird. _Trust me_," he told her in a harsh murmur. "Commoners would do anything for a few coins and I'll give her more than that. You wouldn't believe how resourceful those buggers can be when there's good coin to be had. I've no doubt this woman will find you what you need - even if she has to walk through a snowstorm for a whole day to get it." Then he straightened his back and laid a hand on her shoulder to urge her toward the house. "Now stop worrying and go in before you turn to ice. You're shivering like a bloody leaf," he ordered her, his voice not so hushed anymore.

Her face dropping, Sansa turned around and grudgingly walked to the door. The woman was still waiting by its side and she opened it for her, her old winkled mouth creased in a frown. As the little bird and the large grey dog entered, she glanced at Sandor with unveiled interest - probably wondering what all that talking had all been about - before quickly following them in and shutting the door behind her.

Sandor easily found the stables. They were right behind the house and the biggest building of the farm, even more so than the house itself. Inside, there were about a dozen stalls, half of them empty, which led him to believe the farm had known better days. The creatures housed in weren't too impressive either. Two mules, an old ox, a skinny cow and some chickens, all kept in neighbouring stalls.

As the old woman had asked, her sons had brought a big chaff of hay and they were both waiting anxiously by its side. Sandor handed them the reins of the little bird's mare and headed to the other end of the stables with Stranger. There, he installed the stallion in a stall, freed him of his saddle and saddlebags and brushed him. The boys did the same with the mare a couple of stalls away, babbling nervously too lowly for Sandor to hear a word of what they were saying, all the while peeking in his direction every now and then with unmasked dread. Although they were undeniably old to be called boys being perhaps in their mid to late twenties, that was truly the impression they gave with the way they presented themselves. That poor woman had been given a pair of simpletons for sons. Some people were less lucky than others.

"I'll g.. go get some water-" one of the boys said loud enough for him to hear. He spoke with the voice of a man but had the tone of dim-witted child.

"No! I'll go!" the other cut him, clearly not eager to be left alone in the stables with Sandor, his speech no better.

"No! I said it first!" the first one insisted.

They started bickering like children and Sandor shook his head at how pathetic they were being, his features twisted in disgust.

"Why don't the both of you go and fetch the damn water while I finish feeding the horses? I've had enough of hearing your bloody squabble," he snarled, turning from Stranger to glower at them.

Both jumped and their faces contorted with fear just as much as if he had unsheathed his sword and walked their way instead of simply demanded they shut their buggering mouths and leave him the fuck alone.

"Y.. yes, ser!" one of them responded at once while the other nodded jerkily. Less than an eye blink later, they had scurried away and Sandor was shaking his head again, his contempt for them only increasing.

Once he was done feeding the horses, he exited the stables and walked to the house. On his way, he met the two halfwits again. They were heading back to the stables, each with a bucket of water in hand. As soon as they spotted him, their eyes went wide and darted to the ground and they hurried their pace. Sandor could almost feel them tremble as he passed them by but he didn't pay them no mind and kept on going.

He reached the house only a few seconds later. From the moment he opened its door, the little bird jerked her head to look at him, the abrupt movement reminding him of a deer having heard a distant sound. Installed in a rocking chair by the hearth, she was watching him with a grave air about her, a mug of some steaming beverage in hands. While she had removed her mittens and lowered her cowl, the girl had not taken off her fur cloak and boots. And while the green scarf she had wrapped over her hair this morning was still in place, it had slid so much over her head since then that a part of her hairline was now visible. Some small locks of hair had come out of it and they were shining, bright and red under the firelight.

"Would you like some soup, ser?" the old woman asked. She was standing not far from Sansa and was poking at the fire with a long staff.

"Of course," Sandor rasped flatly, letting her _ser_ pass for now.

The house was warm after a day spent outside. In one sweeping glance, he took in the one large room its first floor was composed of. It was quite dim even with the fire burning in the hearth, for only a single candle had been lit. It was placed over the large table that stood in the centre of the room and was made from tallow judging by the acrid smell and thin dark smoke it emitted. Shelves had been fixed on almost every wall, their wooden planks covered with a semi-clutter of pots, kitchen utensils, tools, and rags. Three wooden beds filled with straw were installed not far from the hearth and a ladder propped in one corner of the room led to the attic.

Seizing a chair from around the table, Sandor pulled it near the fire to sit by Sansa's side. Their gazes locked for an instant but she seemed too uneasy to maintain eye contact even with him and quickly averted them. Just in front of her, the dog was lying with his head lifted up. He was watching Sandor, his ears raised attentively over his head.

"The lady told me you were heading north," the old woman started. She had her back to them and was mixing her soup with a long ladle. It was simmering in a large dark cast-iron pot which was hanging just over the fire from a steel bar fixed to the ceiling of the hearth. "Should've stayed on the main road. Might be a shortcut during the summer but going through these parts will only slow you down now that winter has come."

The burnt corner of Sandor's mouth twitched. For an instant, he was irritated with the little bird for having told their hostess where they were heading. Hadn't he instructed her to say as little as possible? He glared at her and while she kept her stare lowered to the mug she held before her chest, he didn't miss how strained his attention was making her. Yet only a moment later, Sandor relaxed and averted his gaze, his annoyance fading away just as quickly as it had arisen.

There was no sense in blaming the girl for her slip, not when lying about their identity would be a total waste of time and energy. It wasn't like Sandor could be taken for her husband, father or even brother. Anyone with a working pair of eyes could see from the moment they glimpsed the two together that they had nothing to do with one another. Moreover, he couldn't keep his scarf over his face all evening - especially if he wanted to have a taste of that soup. For all he knew, the woman could very well have already guessed who they were anyhow. The fact that the Lady Sansa Stark was being escorted back to her native Winterfell by the Hound was far from a secret and people in the North were bound to have heard of it. She was their bloody princess, after all.

With that in mind, Sandor lowered his hood and loosened his scarf until it didn't conceal his ravaged features anymore and only vaguely covered his neck. His gesture surprised the little bird and she finally dared to gaze his way again. She was taking a long sip out of her mug when she did and her eyes were all he could see from her face over its rim. They were big and round and by the look in them, Sandor might have believed he had just murdered someone instead of simply taken off a bloody scarf from his ugly face. The sight almost made him laugh.

A smirk on his lips, he removed his leather gloves and dropped them in his lap. "The lady and I decided to make a detour because we have something to… _to fix_ before we can truly head north," he explained to their hostess.

Leaning back, he extended his legs before him and crossed them at his ankles. The unexpected movement startled the dog and he brusquely stood up. Bringing his snout to Sandor's thighs, he started sniffing at him and the man stretched an arm to scratch him behind the ear.

"The soup's very hot so be caref…" the woman began, turning around with a mug in her hands. She trailed off and stilled for a very short instant at seeing her guess's face, her own features suddenly tense, but she promptly regained her previous neutral expression. "Be careful, ser," she told him a bit awkwardly, handing him the mug.

Sandor accepted it and just as he did, the door opened in a gust of cold wind, the two halfwits stumbling inside.

The woman seemed to welcome the distraction. She took a couple of steps towards her sons and eyed them sternly. "Don't leave it open so long, boys! You'll make us lose our warmth!" she urged them. By her tone, it was easy to guess this was a reproach she often had to repeat.

Without losing an instant, the boy nearest the door did as she asked. "S.. sorry, Ma."

The woman frowned at them and returned her attention to Sandor. "Those are my two sons, Borin and Rowan," she said, pointing at them in turn.

Each nodded when his name was uttered, keeping his gaze to the ground. Sandor wasn't sure he would remember how they were called. And to be honest, he could barely tell them apart anyway, though one was blonder than the other he now took note. Apart from that, they looked much the same to him. Both were tall, skinny, dirty, and stupid.

"Nice meeting you," the little bird breathed.

That surprised Sandor. He had almost started to believe she had lost her tongue. Glancing at her, he took a sip from his mug. As the woman had cautioned, it was very warm and tasted quite good in spite of its lack of meat - or of anything else to be honest. It was closer to a broth than a soup.

"Oh, and I'm Ingrith, I don't think I've told you yet," the woman added as an afterthought.

"Nice meeting you, Ingrith. And thank you for your hospitality," the girl recited politely.

"Nice meeting you also, m'lady… and ser," she answered back, gazing at them both. She seemed to hesitate an instant but then she readjusted the shawl over her shoulders and spoke again. "Since you're to stay here tonight, I might as well tell you that… well, as you may have noticed, my sons are sadly not totally sound. It's not their fault so please don't judge them; they were born this way and are nevertheless good and obedient boys. I won't complain; at least I'm not alone to take care of this place but I'd be lying if I said that I would not have preferred a healthy son and his bride to take the lead and me to rest during my old days. I was married young but the gods were not good to me and my late husband. Our three first living children were all daughters, only two of which are still alive today. They are both married now and living far away from here with families of their own and no time to visit their old mother." The woman paused and let out a deep, resigned sigh. "And then we had our two sons, one just after the other. We believed it a blessing at first - until they grew old enough for us to realise there was something wrong with them."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the little bird let out just as soon. She seemed truly saddened by the woman's story, touchingly so.

_What a good-hearted little bird she is,_ Sandor thought to himself, the unscarred corner of his mouth curling up mockingly. Well aware of how inappropriate he was being, he took a long sip of soup to hide his smirk from Sansa and the woman. As far as he was concerned, he was pretty glad the boys were as they were. He was almost certain he wouldn't have to worry about them concerning Sansa for as long as they had to stay here. Those two sad excuses for men probably didn't even know what their cock was good for apart from pissing.

"I thank you for your compassion, m'lady. I do love them as they are anyway," the woman, Ingrith, admitted to Sansa, a weak yet genuine smile on her lips. Then, she turned to face her sons and called them. "Come over here now, boys. I'll give you some soup."

Both did as she asked and calmly waited in line as she filled two mugs for them.

With her grey hair and wrinkled face, Ingrith looked almost a crone but Sandor could tell she was younger than she seemed from the strength of her movements, the clarity of her voice and the way she stood straight and solidly on her legs. Life had simply worn her out, as it was often the case with small peasants, and now there was not a trace left of the beauty she perhaps once had possessed, long ago.

Once the woman had finished serving her two halfwit sons, they both installed themselves by the table the furthest they could from Sandor and began gulping very noisily at their soup all the while whispering to one another. Their mother filled a mug of soup for herself and sat down on the high stool that stood right next to the hearth, her back leaned against the wall.

"So, how long do you think you'll require our hospitality, ser?" the woman asked after a long moment of silence.

"'Depends on whether you can assist us with our problem or not," Sandor exposed flatly.

At that, he heard Sansa draw in a sharp breath, and he turned to lay his gaze on her. Her skin had turned as white as milk and she was staring at him pleadingly. _Better we know what to expect right away, little bird,_ Sandor thought, looking her straight in the eyes.

Ingrith herself seemed curious to hear more, Sandor saw when he returned his attention on her. She had her head tilted to the side, her interest utterly grasped. "Please continue, ser, and if it's my power to help you, I'll do it without hesitation."

Glancing at the two halfwits behind him, Sandor wavered for a very brief instant before swiftly gathering he could speak freely with them in the room. They probably didn't understand even half of what was being said around them anyhow.

"Well the girl… she needs moon tea," Sandor announced gruffly, nodding toward Sansa.

From white, the little bird's face turned almost as red as her hair in a heartbeat. She stared down into her soup and bit at her lip, her neck so stiff, Sandor might have feared it'd break from sheer tension if he had not known better.

"Moon tea…?" Ingrith repeated, clearly taken aback by his demand. Just as she said the words, her gaze swept from Sandor to Sansa and then to Sandor again and a knowing spark passed through her eyes. Her face darkened and her mouth pulled in a thin line. "Oh, I see…" she uttered dryly.

Sandor glowered at her. _Of course you see, you stupid old hag,_ he reflected, irked at her for stating the obvious. It didn't take a genius to surmise from his request what was going on between him and his charge.

"Can you provide us some? I'd pay you well if you could. Enough that you'd have some meat to add in that buggering soup of yours for a few moons at least," he hissed, unable to keep his irritation from showing in his voice.

Even though her expression was bleak, it was evident the promise of gold was tempting the woman. She seemed torn and took a few seconds to ponder about his proposition.

As he waited for her to answer, Sandor drained the remaining of his soup before lowering the mug to the floor by the side of his chair. "So?" he prompted afterwards.

Sighing, Ingrith laid her piercing little eyes on Sandor, her old face more wrinkled than ever now. "Yes, I know where to get moon tea," she started slowly, her voice weary. "I can certainly help you… and I will. This winter promises to be long and harsh. The gold you offer will be welcome. Thank you," she said, the last words sounding a bit forced. "The moon tea, is it to… to prevent or is the lady-"

"She's with child," Sandor cut her roughly, feeling strangely uncomfortable to concede to it aloud. By his side, Sansa was still staring at her soup in silence, obviously mortified to see her secret discussed so openly.

"Right," Ingrith replied with no real surprise. "Well in that case, I'll go to the village tomorrow and fetch a friend of mine. She's the one who would have sold me the moon tea."

"The village, you say? I have not seen it. Is it far?" Sandor inquired at once.

"Not so much. With this snow, just over an hour further down the road on mule back."

Sandor nodded and gestured for her to continue. That was far enough to his taste.

"Well anyway. As I was saying, I would rather my friend prepare it for… for you, m'lady," she said, turning her attention on Sansa.

The latter finally looked up from her soup. She gazed timidly at both Sandor and Ingrith in turn before nodding at the woman.

"Taking moon tea to avoid getting with child is one thing and I would have felt at ease to prepare some for you myself, however, since you are already… _expecting_, well that changes everything. The tea will need to be brewed stronger and so, I would prefer not to be in charge. My friend is very knowledgeable in plants and herbs and she has made it her trade to cure people of all sorts of illness. She has experience in helping women controlling the birth of their children. It's even her speciality."

"She's a witch?" Sandor asked, raising his good eyebrow sceptically at her.

"Some call her a witch but she's only a wise woman. What she does, she does for the good of others. She's been invaluable for the women and children of these parts for a very long time now, you can believe my word on that, ser."

"Humph. That's all good but can I trust her to be discreet? And you, can _you_ be trusted? I don't want anyone from that hamlet near by to hear about our presence at your farm. No one should ever know we were here and most of all, what our purpose was." While his voice was poised and tone calm, the underlying threat of Sandor's words had not been missed by the woman.

"Of course, you can count on my silence. And the friend I told you about is beyond discreet. It's vital when dealing with the sorts of issues she does," Ingrith assured him. "The vast majority of women don't tell their husbands when they decide to send an unborn child back to the heavens, you know. Many men wouldn't agree, even if the poor woman had already a full brood of children to take care of. Others don't want their wife to take moon tea in prevention, even if only to give them a temporary break just after having given birth. They say it's not natural but a woman can't breed like a sow and deliver a new babe every year without paying the consequences. Those who do usually don't live to be very old. Anyhow, all that to say that Githa, that's my friend's name, well she knows how to keep a secret. Of that, you can be certain, ser. Nearly all the women of the area owe her for that."

Grunting, Sandor exhaled loudly, his face setting in a deep scowl. He wasn't sure what to make about that long speech Ingrith had just recited him. He wasn't certain what he should think of her pretence that most women were dishonest to their husbands either. _It doesn't matter, what the fuck do I care?_

"Good. Bring her tomorrow then," he muttered nonchalantly.

"I'll do just that, ser," Ingrith replied, raising her mug to her lips.

Wincing, Sandor shot her a glare. "And I'm no _ser_ by the way, so stop calling me that, will you?" he spat sharply.

The woman tensed and for few long seconds, she examined him with a very serious air about her. "You're the Hound, aren't you?"

"I am," he admitted, almost reluctantly.

Ingrith nodded slowly and looked at Sansa. If she had suspected who she was before, now she knew for sure, there was no doubting it. "Well, m'lady," she said after a moment. "I'll do my best to help you with this. You can trust me to keep your secret."


	11. Chapter 11

_Hi everyone! Here's a new instalment for this story! I had originally intended to make this chapter and the next only one chapter but ended up changing my mind because it would've been way too long and writing super long chapters is too exhausting for me these days. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it! Can't wait to hear what you have to say! :D_

_Special thanks to my beta, Leigh of Oldstone, for her always incredibly appreciated help! She's the greatest! :D_

* * *

Sitting on a rocking chair by the hearth, Sansa was nervously looking around herself, taking in her new surroundings. She and Sandor had just installed themselves in the secondary house they had seen a little further on the farm's land when they arrived on the previous evening. The place had been prepared by Ingrith's two sons, Borin and Rowan, all through the morning. They had dusted it, filled its two wooden beds with fresh hay, brought in a basin of water and some towels and started a fire.

From what Ingrith had told them before she left for the village, this farm had once been inhabited by many people even just a generation before and the second house had been very useful in those years. Nowadays, they could easily have done without it but since it was there already, her sons made it their quarters when the weather was clement enough not to require sustaining a fire in the hearth at all time. With winter's arrival, they had been forced to close it for good. There would indeed have been no sense in wasting good firewood heating two houses when one sufficed amply for three people.

Last night after the Hound had revealed to Ingrith their reason for having ventured in these parts, the woman had advised them to remain at her farm for a week or so after Sansa had taken moon tea so that she could regain her strength. Sandor had agreed and it had been decided the secondary house would be reopened for them during that time. Yet since it had been dark outside by then, they had both slept in Ingrith's house with the woman and her two sons. Borin and Rowan had shared a bed so that Sansa could have one for herself and Sandor had installed himself directly over the floor by her side, over a blanket of hay and his bedroll.

Sansa had not slept very well. It had been so odd to be surrounded by all those strangers and to hear them snore and shift into the night. Also if truth be told, she had grown accustomed to always sharing her bed with the Hound over the last few moons and though she was reluctant to admit to it, she had longed for his presence and warmth as night slowly turned to dawn. Yet, what had truly kept her awake and staring at the ceiling had been the thought of what she'd be doing on the morrow. Drinking moon tea was a scary prospect indeed, for she didn't know what effect it would have on her. Still, her fear was nothing against the guilt she was plagued with whenever she stopped to consider the fate she would soon be delivering to her own unborn child.

While she had been torn about her decision to take moon tea ever since she had first agreed to it, Sansa had previously managed to comfort herself by reasoning that she would only have to drink it later on and that she would surely have gotten resigned to the prospect by then. Yet time had flown far more quickly than she would have liked and now that she had only a few hours of waiting before the dreaded moment, she was forced to realise this had only been wishful thinking on her part. If one thing, she had grown more uncertain and apprehensive as the days had passed.

_But this is the right decision_, she reminded herself for perhaps the hundredth time. She couldn't have this child. It was simply impossible that she keep it, there was absolutely no sense in the notion. And it wasn't like she wanted it anyway. It would be the Hound's bastard after all and never in a thousand years would she have wished to have borne his baby.

_It would have been mine just as much though, _Sansa mused uneasily, suddenly compelled to lay a hand over her flat stomach. What a strange concept this was. Even after a whole fortnight, she still had a hard time wrapping her head around the idea that a child that would've been a mix of him and herself, just as she was a mix of her mother and father, was growing in her womb. There was something so utterly wrong and disturbing about this. Still at the same time, now that it was there – that it existed! – it seemed just as wrong to kill it.

_But I must go through with this. I have no choice. _Not only was she too young to be a mother but she was still officially a maiden with no husband or even a betrothed and she could never properly take care of an infant on her own. She would give birth to a fatherless child, a bastard rejected by all. Even the Hound didn't want it. Although he had never said it directly, Sansa had no illusions on the subject. He had been the one to suggest moon tea after all.

Yet no matter her own inner turmoil, it was for her family first and foremost that she needed to take moon tea. If she was to have the Hound's bastard, she would bring shame not only on herself but on her whole House. She had a duty toward them not to let that happen and so she had to be brave and go along with this in spite of how much it scared her – _in spite of how it broke her heart_. For it was heartbreaking indeed and thus as everyone else had slept last night, Sansa had fought against her tears, trying to reason that there was no sense in her being sad about the disappearance of the bud of a baby she didn't even want to begin with. But logic had been of very small comfort to her. Her handkerchief pressed hard to her face to muffle all sound, she had ended up weeping quietly into the dark night for a very long time it had seemed, until sweet oblivion finally claimed her.

"This place's not so bad. What do you say, little bird?" Sandor asked as he inspected their new accommodation.

"Yes," Sansa replied though she was not truly convinced. "It's… better than sharing the other house with Ingrith and her sons," she said, unable to find any other positive thing to say about it for now.

The Hound snorted. "Much better," he agreed, shooting her a sly glance.

From the look he gave her, it was easy to guess why he was so glad of their newly acquired intimacy but Sansa averted her eyes and pretended she had not noticed. Instead, she swept her gaze over the room and kept on rocking herself in her chair.

The house they were in was smaller than the main one, she had known as much even before she entered, yet it was far less cluttered and this led to a false impression that it was actually the same size as the other. For sole furniture, there were two wooden beds near the hearth, a small round table with four chairs around it, a low stool in a corner with a basin of water settled over it and the rocking chair Sansa was installed in. The walls had shelves fixed on them like the other house but they were almost empty and so she and Sandor had had plenty of space to store their things. As it was often the case for peasants' houses, it had few windows – four in this case – and they were very tiny, their diminutive size preventing too much heat from being lost when the weather was cold outside. Glass being too expensive, they were made out of very thin oiled hide, just like it had been for the main house, and so even now that it was sunny outside, it was quite dim inside.

"I'll admit it's no castle but it's better than what many smallfolk have, believe me," the Hound told Sansa after a moment, turning to face her. He was standing near one of the walls, the top of his head only a few inches from the large beam overhead. "Besides we've been lucky to find a place with a woman all but living alone in the middle of the woods. We couldn't have hoped for more, given our purpose."

Sansa nodded but she looked away, her whole frame so very tense.

"Stop worrying, Sansa," Sandor rasped, slowly walking to her. "I do believe you're in good hands and that these people won't speak afterwards."

"Are you certain, Sandor?" Sansa asked, looking up at him with big, earnest eyes, dearly needing to be reassured.

"I am," he affirmed. Bending over her, he seized her by the elbows and lifted her to her feet. "I'll pay Ingrith and that friend of hers to stay quiet. I'll tell them I'll come back and give them some more gold in a year or two from now if no rumour of what we're doing here has reached my ears by then. And if I hear anything, I'll come back and kill them all," he murmured, looking her intently in the eyes.

"Don't say that. I don't want you to kill them," Sansa countered just as soon, her voice soft yet full of reproach. She gazed down, her brow knitted dejectedly.

"But I won't unless they speak, little bird," the Hound insisted tipping her head upward with a finger under her chin to force her to meet his stare again. "If they die, it'll be by their own bloody doing and I'll make that clear before we leave this place. They'd be the only ones to blame."

Sansa sighed deeply, still not convinced by his argument but feeling too exhausted and preoccupied to contradict him. She didn't say anything and only kept on gazing at him with a sad expression on her face.

"Oh come on now, Sansa. Don't look at me like that," Sandor scolded her gently, caressing her cheek with his knuckles. When after a second or two she still had not uttered a word, he pulled her against him and started gently stroking her back and hair with his large hands. "There, little bird. You're safe now and everything will be alright. Stop worrying," he said as softly as his rough voice allowed.

Leaning into his embrace, Sansa relaxed and raised her own hands to his chest. She closed her eyes and let his steady and strong presence soothe her. Yet after about a minute of that, the man's touch grew more insistent and he started nuzzling and kissing her neck. There was no doubting where he was going with this.

"Sandor… not now please," she breathed.

"Why not? We're alone and I've miss you last night," he muttered, his mouth not leaving the crook of her neck. His breath was warm against her skin as he spoke and his fingers were tracing small circles over her waist and lower back.

"I'm just too nervous for it," Sansa replied, shifting uncomfortably in his arms. "My mind is elsewhere. I couldn't be less inclined!"

"Perhaps it would do you some good then. Make you forget everything." At that, one of Sandor's hands fell on her bottom to squeeze it gently and he pressed his erection against her.

Flinching, Sansa pushed her palms against his chest and jerked her head away from him. "Sandor, please! I don't think this would help at all!" she cried, squirming in his clutches until he finally loosened his hands around her.

Leaning back slightly, he gazed at her through narrowed eyes, his displeasure plain.

While the sight was intimidating, Sansa gulped and resumed speaking. "I just feel like… like _going to bed_ with you just before taking moon tea to… _to abort_, well it would be so inappropriate! Somehow, it would make me feel even more horrible about myself."

"But seven hells, Sansa! What the fuck would it change?"

"Much to me, believe me, Sandor! Please! For once let me have a say in this," Sansa implored him, her hands clutching at the front of his tunic and neck craned.

For a moment, the Hound glared at her but then his scowl deepened and he abruptly removed his hands from her.

"Alright. _Alright_, if that's what you truly want, I'll leave you alone for now," he hissed with obvious frustration.

Walking away from her, he grasped both his cloak and scarf from their hook on the wall and put them on.

"I'm going to go cut some wood. There are not enough logs in here. Those two halfwits didn't bring us nearly enough." With that, he seized his war axe from the shelf it lay on and stalked out of the house.

Once he was gone, Sansa stood in place for a moment, staring unseeingly at the closed door. Then after about a minute of that, she let out something not far from a sob and sat back into her rocking chair.

In all logic, she should've been satisfied that for the first time since he had stolen her maidenhead, the Hound had listened to her and not imposed his lust on her. Yet somehow she wasn't. He had left her alone, alone with her fear and misery and as she sat on her own, she quickly started to wonder if she would not have preferred that he insisted and take her in spite of her reluctance. Perhaps he had been right in the end and it would have done her some good. At least it would have kept her mind busy and stopped her from thinking too much if only for as long as their intercourse lasted. And also more absurdly, the fact that he had ceded made her feel… well, yes, _rejected_. It was ludicrous given that had been exactly what she had wished for and that she had even begged him to leave her alone. Only, ever since her relation with Sandor had become physical, his yearning for her had always been so strong and unstoppable that he had never let anything refrain him from claiming her when he wanted to. Even while she knew it held no logic, her mind had equated being desirable as a woman with him not being able to control his ardour and so now that he had managed to repress it for the first time, it woke all sorts of doubts in her. As a result, she was now more confused than ever and that, added to the apprehension taking moon tea roused in her, made her feel more horrible than she had in a very long time.

* * *

Ingrith came back early in the afternoon. She had gone alone to the village but brought her two mules with her and had thus been able to carry back a lot of food for everyone plus some wine and other necessities Sandor had asked for. With her came another woman, Githa she was called, Sansa remembered from yesterday evening's conversation. Pushing the door ajar, she watched both women through the slit as they led their mounts to the stables. Even from where she was, she could see that Ingrith's friend seemed very different from her. She was much taller and there was something oddly graceful about her stance. She had been travelling on the back of a very old-looking horse and was wearing a long forest green cloak over a brown dress. Her hair was very long and came a few inches down her waist, dark brown with some grey strands in it.

Sansa stared at her for a moment, unable to stop herself, until the woman noticed and peered her way. Startled, she went to close the door but Githa gestured for her to let it open and headed in her direction.

"I reckon you're the young lady Ingrith told me about," she said when she had gotten near enough to be heard.

"Yes," Sansa uttered meekly.

"Come out or let me in. It's cold outside. You don't want this house to be as well."

Unsure what to do, Sansa wavered for an instant but then she turned around, seized her cloak and put it in on. She had already her boots on since the wooden floor of the house was too cold to stay barefoot even with the rushes it was covered with and so she stepped outside only a few seconds later.

Once she had closed the door behind her, she turned to face the woman and was surprised to see that she was even taller than she was, though not of much. Deep lines creased her brow, giving her a stern air but she was not as old as Ingrith and Sansa surmised she was perhaps about a decade to fifteen years older than her lady mother. Even with her cloak on, one could tell she was a bit stout as most women got with age, yet she was still shapely with a large bust and hips and a thinner waist. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black, and very piercing and while she was not beautiful, her features too hard for that, she was a handsome woman and had definitely charms of her own. There was something very intimidating about her though and Sansa was rooted in place from the moment she met her gaze.

"We need to have a good talk, m'lady. I always like to do so with those I help beforehand. Ingrith told me about you and…"

Just as she spoke, the Hound came out of the forest, striding their way with many logs in his arms. By his hurried pace and the stiff set of his jaw, Sansa could tell he was not too happy that Githa had found her in his absence. The woman herself trailed off and turned to watch him as he approached, he mouth pulled in a severe frown.

"You're the witch, aren't you?" Sandor spat once he had rejoined them.

"Not a witch, but yes I am her. I'd rather you refer to me as Githa, if that's not too much to ask of you," she returned tartly.

"Humph. As you say, _Githa_. Well now, could you move over while I bring in that wood I have, hmm?" he asked, lifting his arms slightly, as if he needed to point out of which wood he was speaking of.

The woman looked him up and down appraisingly. "Of course. I'll join Ingrith in the other house for now and will be back in about an hour," she answered with something strangely close to contempt before heading away.

"Ask Ingrith to tell those two sons of hers to come and give me hand," Sandor yelled after her. "I have more firewood to bring in here."

Halting in her walk, Githa gazed at him over her shoulder. "Borin and Rowan? Yes, I'll tell them myself," she said, her green cloak flying behind her as she resumed her stride.

When afterwards he and Sansa had both entered the house, the Hound kneeled down not far from the hearth to pile up the firewood. "May be good at what she does but I don't like her one bit. Bloody witch," he mumbled gruffly.

Sansa frowned at him and walked to the rocking chair. "Why would you say that? You don't even know her yet."

"Seen the way she looked at me? And the way she spoke too? Some smallfolk think too highly of themselves and the damned woman's one of those." He snorted then, his annoyance unmistakable. "We'll have to do with what we have though. No other choice." Standing to his feet, he turned to face Sansa and approached her slowly, his steely eyes pinned on her. "I'll go fetch more of those logs I've cut now, but in the meantime if she comes back, don't talk to her. Understood?"

Sansa nodded and he exited the house.

* * *

After all the firewood the Hound had chopped had been brought in, both he and Sansa stayed alone in the little house for some time. They didn't exchange much and both sat by the hearth, she on the rocking chair and he on a chair he had pulled from around the table. As Sandor cleaned and sharpened his war axe, Sansa tried to work on her embroidery but she was too distracted and had a hard time keeping her focus on her task. When at one point a knock was heard on the door, she had barely progressed at all.

The Hound opened, letting out a grunt for sole greeting as Githa, Ingrith and her two sons entered, each carrying many things in their arms.

"We've got the beeswax candles and wine you asked for, se… m'lord," Ingrith announced as she settled her armload on an empty shelve. "And some food also. The lady will need to eat properly before we can get on with what we have to."

Borin and Rowan had two bowls, two spoons, a loaf of bread with some butter and a steaming cauldron in hands. They left it all on the table and scurried away just as soon. Her back to Sansa, Githa was installing a large cauldron filled with snow just over the fire and the girl presumed she intended to use the water she would get from melting it to brew her moon tea later on. Her stomach pulled in a tight knot at the thought.

Without waiting, Sandor walked to the shelve Ingrith had put his wineskins on, picked one up and took a long swallow out of it. As he did, Ingrith served two bowls of stew and placed them over the table.

"Better eat before it's cold," she prompted.

The stew smelled very good but Sansa was not hungry at all. She pulled herself a chair by the table anyway, Sandor doing likewise and taking seat right next to her. Both of them ate in silence as Githa stoked the fire and Ingrith knitted, installed in the rocking chair. The stew was excellent and filled with many pieces of turnips, carrots and leeks as well as slices of sausages and some lentils, yet Sansa's nerves prevented her from fully appreciating it. The Hound had already ingested his ration, served himself two additional bowls and eaten a few pieces of bread with some butter by the time Sansa managed to finish her own.

When both of them were done, Githa stood from where she was crouched before the hearth and turned around to face the table. "Now, m'lord, you've eaten. You've had your drink. Please leave us alone. Me and Ingrith need to talk with the lady. You can rejoin Borin and Rowan in the main house."

"Talk with the lady?" the Hound repeated disbelievingly, baring his teeth hostilely at her. "Why the seven hells couldn't I stay while you do? I'm not leaving." Leaning back into his chair, he took a long sip from his wineskin and gazed coldly at the woman, a spark of defiance shining in his dark eyes.

Githa frowned, clearly displeased by his refusal to cooperate. "Some things cannot be said before a man. I know how we women are. The girl won't speak as openly as I'd like her to for as long as you are here to listen."

Sandor glowered at her. "What the fuck do you want her to say? If she can't speak it before me, then I'm not sure I want her to say it at all," he stated, his voice as sharp as the blade of his long sword.

"You men are all the same. Think the world revolves around you," Githa hissed bitterly. Shaking her head in exasperation, she propped her back against the wall behind her. "You're far from the first man I meet who won't let me speak alone with… with _his ladylove_," she said derisively, a sneer briefly stretching her lips. "Well you know what that always tells me? That the man in question knows he has done something wrong. That he has a guilty conscience. Otherwise, he wouldn't refuse to let me have a private chat with his _lady_. He'd have no reason to worry about what she'd tell me once he'd be gone. But fear not, _m'lord_. I've no intention to find out the truth about anything. All I want is to help the lady with the problem you've given her and for that, I need to speak to her of some womanly matters about which I'm sure she won't be at ease to open up before you."

Her point made, Githa folded her arms before her chest, her mouth pulled in a severe line. The room had become uncomfortably silent, the only sound to be heard being the tick of Ingrith's needles as the woman kept on knitting, her curious little eyes gazing sideway at Sandor over her work, waiting for his reaction.

While he had already been piqued, Githa's words ended angering the Hound for real. His mouth twitching, he sat up straight in his chair and stretched his neck from one side to the other, his eyes glued to the woman and burning with hatred. The sight was highly alarming to Sansa. Although he was keeping his wrath in check for now, she dreaded what he might do if he was to unleash it. She had not seen him so furious in a very long time.

"Sandor," she whispered, discreetly touching the hand he had over his thigh under the table. It was closed into a tight fist but relaxed slightly when she laid her palm over it. "Please, Sandor," she mouthed as he met her eyes, gazing at him pleadingly.

His face twisted in a deep scowl, the Hound eyed her very oddly – a little as if it was the first time he'd seen her and he didn't know what to make of her. Yet after just an eye blink of two, he exhaled loudly through his nose and looked away, removing his hand from under Sansa's.

"I'll leave, by the buggering Stranger. I've no bloody choice, it seems," he snarled, standing to his feet so brusquely the table shook and the bowls and cauldron over it wavered noisily for a brief instant. "But I'll be back soon. I'm just going to check on the horses and feed them. It'll take me but a moment," he informed them.

In only a few strides, Sandor got to the door. He seized his cloak from its place on the wall and stormed out of the house, not before having shot Sansa a menacing glance over his shoulder, one clearly meant to warn her against being too chatty in his absence.

Him gone, Githa peered at the shut door with distaste and shook her head again. "Well, I better get straight to the point then. That beast of a man won't leave us much time, I've no doubt about it," she began with venom in her voice, walking toward Sansa. "I need you to answer to a few questions I have, m'lady, and to be as precise as you can. Will you do that?"

Sansa hesitated but shortly nodded anyway, looking timidly at her.

The woman's lips curled in a very faint, tired smile. "Alright then," she said, pulling a chair for herself just in front of Sansa at the other side of the table. "But first of all, I need to warn you about the risks associated with taking moon tea - because there are sadly some risks, I won't pretend otherwise. While most often all works fine, some women don't react well to the tansy it contains. A few become very ill after they have absorbed it and some are never able to bear a healthy child afterwards, even years later. And sometimes a woman can die, though this is rarer of all but I've seen it happen on a couple of occasions in my career. I wouldn't be honest not to tell you. I'm sure this must not be very reassuring to you, still I prefer that you be aware of the potential consequences of taking moon tea before you decide to go through with this."

For some reason even while Sansa had feared the effects, she had never considered there could be such serious hazard to taking moon tea. Now that she knew, she was in total shock. Her determination had been weak to begin with, yet now with these new information, she was more lost than ever and had no clue what she should do. She desperately wished Githa had not chased the Hound away. It would've been only fair for him to be informed about this also.

From her place on the rocking chair, Ingrith laid knowing eyes on Sansa, her old hands never stopping working the long needles they held even an instant. "What Githa has just told you is all true, m'lady, yet you should also know that you'd be taking just as big a risk if you decided to keep the babe."

Her eyes growing even wider and pulse accelerating, Sansa drew in a sharp breath and looked at Githa for confirmation.

"Sadly she's not wrong, m'lady. A woman dying in childbirth's not that uncommon at all, you must know it yourself already. Whatever the decision you'll take in this, you'll be taking a risk for your health, that's for sure," she replied. Her voice was flat and almost emotionless but there was some compassion in her eyes. She sighed and gave Sansa a weak, little smile. "In your case though, m'lady, I'd advise taking moon tea. I think it would be the wisest decision you could take under these circumstances and so I'm glad that's what that _big oaf_ wants also. You're too young to give birth - at least to my liking. It would give me worry if you were to keep the babe and try to deliver it. If it's to inherit its father's size, well that won't be good for you, believe me. One way or another, a girl your age's not meant to breed, better to wait at least five years after the first blood before a firstborn. That's what I always tell mothers when they ask me for advises regarding whether or not to marry their daughters."

"Yes, that's what I did with my own after you told me so," Ingrith agreed, steadily rocking herself in her chair.

"And you did well. I did the same with my daughter too – waited even longer to tell you the truth - and now she has plenty of healthy children of her own. No regret in that on neither my part nor hers." Her face darkening, Githa let out something not far from a laugh but devoid of any humour. "Can't expect men to be so wise though. They see a pretty face and a nice pair of breasts and they think it's ready. Or they don't think at all, most likely. That brute you're travelling with… well I'm sure he didn't stop to consider what was best for you before he took your innocence from you. No he-"

Ingrith cleared her throat and gazed at Githa with her brow lowered over her eyes.

"Right, I digress. Well, m'lady. Still want to take moon tea in spite of what I've told you? Made your choice?"

Gulping, Sansa looked down at the empty bowl of stew before her, her hands all clammy over her lap. _Whatever I'll do, I'll be taking a risk,_ she reminded herself. It was a distressing prospect but once more, it was the memory of her family that decided her. She couldn't change her mind now given that her House's honour was at stake and since she'd be facing danger either way there would be really no point anyhow.

"I… I still want to take it."

"Good," Githa said, sounding truly relieved. "Now, I need you to tell me for how long he's been doing this to you."

Sansa winced at hearing her choice of words. It was clear by it as well as by the way she kept referring to Sandor that the woman had accurately guessed much of how their relation had started. Strangely, Sansa was not pleased by it at all. It made her uncomfortable. She didn't like to see all that contempt directed to him, no matter how Githa expressed it on her behalf and she herself still resented him for his actions.

I… I don't know, I'm not sure exactly," she lied, reluctant to answer. She feared to worsen Githa's impression of him by any admission she made.

"You must have an idea," the woman insisted. "How long have you two been on the road? Has this started at the beginning of your travel or later on?"

"Later," Sansa said, blushing at her lie but hoping that pretending he had not been taking her for as long as he truly had would help at least a little.

"And you've been travelling for how long?" Githa demanded.

"About three moons," she replied meekly. That was the truth at least.

"So this started what? Halfway through? It cannot be much later, otherwise I'm not sure how you'd have found out you were with child, especially given this is your first time."

"I know the symptoms. My lady mother was sick in the mornings when she expected my youngest brother, just like I am now, and my breasts are more sensitive and bigger than they were," Sansa hurried to retort. "It's like you've said. It first… _happened_ halfway through our journey." Her cheeks were burning both from being so deceitful and speaking aloud of something so intimate.

"So it's been a moon and a half? Well that's good at least. And has he been spilling his seed in you from the start?" she inquired. "Has he ever even attempted to avoid this lot to you at all?"

If Sansa had thought her cheeks to burn before, now they were aflame. It was so embarrassing to be asked such a personal question and be expected to answer before two women she barely knew, one of which was old enough to be her grandmother.

"He… he…"

"He never pulled out, did he?" It was more an affirmation than a question.

"Pull out?" Sansa repeated, puzzled at first, before swiftly deducing what the woman had meant. The Hound having never done it, it was simply not something she had ever contemplated men might do.

Her brief hesitation gave Githa the answer she had wanted. "I thought as much." She gazed at Ingrith. "So a moon and half it is indeed - most likely."

The older woman nodded in accord, the soft tick of her knitting never faltering in the background.

"And you've been having morning sickness for how long now?"

Sansa paused to ponder her response. "A fortnight perhaps," she lied again, aware enough to know she couldn't tell the truth if she wanted her story to be credible.

Both Ingrith and Githa nodded at that, as if they approved of her words.

"That's all good," Githa started. Propping her elbows on the table, she leaned toward Sansa and narrowed her eyes at her. "One last thing though, m'lady. Before you leave this place and head north again with that… that…"

"He's my escort, my guard," Sansa continued for the woman before she could find a new offensive name to call Sandor.

That made Githa snort. "And what a good job he did at guarding you. I don't know what by the old gods that twice blasted southern king thought of sending you away alone with a man of his sort."

Her heart skipping a beat, Sansa froze in her seat. While both she and the Hound had already assumed Ingrith had guessed their identity, neither her nor Githa had referred to it so directly before. They had always skilfully avoided mentioning anything that implied they knew and Sansa had preferred it that way. Judging by the reproachful glance Ingrith sent Githa, the old woman agreed with her but Sansa was too mortified to find any comfort in the notion. Shrinking into her seat, she lowered her stare shamefully, feeling excruciatingly exposed.

"Well as I was saying," Githa continued, apparently not perturbed by Sansa's response in the least, "before you head north again with that _guard_ of yours, I'll give you some herbs so that you can brew yourself a few rations of a much lighter version of the moon tea I'm about to prepare for you. It'll come handy as you travel later on."

Gazing up, Sansa laid baffled eyes on the woman.

Smiling wryly at her, the latter gave her a pitying look. "If you think he'll leave you alone for what remains of your journey once you'll have left this farm, then you've truly learned nothing out of your ordeal, my poor child," she told her with a mocking edge in her voice. Then she stood up and walked to the hearth. "I'll start brewing you your moon tea now. I advise you to change into a nightgown or shift you don't like too much. They'll be some bleeding."

Biting anxiously at her lips, Sansa headed to her saddlebag where all her clothes were still stored._ I'm used to bleeding. I've had my moon's blood many times now. It can't be much worse than that,_ she tried to reassure herself. She found her oldest shift and had only started loosening the laces of her dress when the door boomed opened.

"What are you doing, Sansa?" the Hound asked. He was still visibly in a bad temper from having been previously chased away.

Githa replied before Sansa had a chance to. She was leaning over the cauldron of now-boiling water in the hearth and didn't turn around to address him. "There'll be some bleeding, m'lord. It's best she changes before she takes the moon tea."

Sandor grunted but added nothing to that. He shut the door behind himself, removed his cloak and started rubbing off the snow that remained on his boots with his gloved hands.

"I should probably go and fetch a few old blankets for the lady's bed - and some rags too," Ingrith said. Standing from the rocking chair, she put her long needles and the woollen sock she had been working on in the large pocket of her apron and walked to the table to tidy it up.

_Some old blankets and rags too?_ Sansa repeated inwardly, her worry increasing dramatically. Would she really bleed all that much that she would need all of these on top of her old shift? _Oh gods…_

Once Ingrith had all piled the bowls and spoons into the empty cauldron of strew, she went out of the house and left the others alone for a few minutes. Sansa resumed loosening the laces of her dress, all the while watching Githa out of the corner of her eyes as she added all sort of herbs in a mug of boiling water. As she removed her gown and shift, Sansa put her back to both Sandor and the woman, absurdly shy to undress before them even though the man knew her nude body more than anyone else and Githa had surely seen hundreds of naked girls and women throughout her years as a wise woman.

Her least favourite shift on, Sansa took place in the rocking chair by the hearth where it was warmest. The house was a bit cold not to be fully dressed and thus when Ingrith arrived a few minutes later, she gladly accepted one of the blankets she had brought and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Here, m'lady. It's ready," Githa said as she handed the mug to Sansa.

Holding it before her chest with both hands, Sansa looked down at the steaming beverage inside. It was thick with herbs and didn't smell nor look very pleasant, she realised, grimacing.

"Drink it," Githa bade her. "And don't take your time too much doing so. It's best if you ingest it all swiftly."

_It's going to truly happen now,_ Sansa mused, her hands trembling slightly and heart hammering in her chest. Turning her head sideway, she gazed at where Sandor was sitting by the table. He was staring at her stonily, waiting. _Perhaps I should've informed him of what Githa has told me. That taking moon tea is not without risks_, she regretted for a short instant before quickly shaking herself. _No,_ _I've already made my decision. I cannot change it now._

Returning her attention to the mug she held, Sansa took a deep breath and did as Githa had asked with tears pearling at the corner of her eyes. The taste of the moon tea was awful but she ignored it as much as she could and forced herself to drink everything. A few minutes and many disagreeable sips later, she had drunk it all.

"Good," Githa said, taking the mug from Sansa's hands. "Now all we can do is wait for the effect to start."

Nodding, the girl closed the blanket she had over her shoulders more tightly around herself, praying the gods all would go for the best.


	12. Chapter 12

About an hour had passed since Sansa had ingested the moon tea. Reclined over one of the wooden beds not far from the hearth, she anxiously waited for the effect to kick in, working on her embroidery with her back propped against her rolled up bedroll covered with one of her furs. The bed had been made by Ingrith with the old blankets she had brought in from the main house and Sansa had removed her smallclothes and installed a rag into her shift under the juncture of her thighs, like Githa had instructed.

Both women had been amazed when they'd first seen her embroidery. Sansa had to admit it was quite impressive and she had felt a touch of pride as they admired it. The wolves in the foreground were certainly the most striking element of the northern scenery it depicted, for Sansa had spent many hours on their coats. Using several different shades of grey and innumerable small stitches, she had managed to create an illusion of texture and movement in them, so much so that looking at them one could almost believe they could run their fingers through the thick fur. Each wolf had a pink tongue coming out of its mouth and the rosebushes that surrounded them were just as detailed, every single of their leaves and roses being clearly defined. Sansa had almost finished the snow they had underfoot but she still had ample work left ahead of her with the background. Thankfully Sandor had purchased plenty of spools of thread of many different colours for her before they left Maidenpool and so Sansa was not worried that she wouldn't be able to keep herself busy in the evenings as they ended travelling to Winterfell.

Ingrith had returned to the main house some time ago already, telling them not to hesitate to ask if they needed her later on but Githa had stayed in to keep an eye on Sansa. Sitting in the rocking chair just in front of the hearth with Sansa's bed on her right, she was staring into the fire with a stern air about her. Sandor was installed on a chair a little further away on her other side, his saddlebag opened over the table before him as he inspected every single piece of clothing he had brought with him from King's Landing. He could be heard cursing under his breath every now and then.

"Seven bloody hells. It's been a rough few moons, it seems. Most of my socks and even a couple of my breeches have holes in them now," the man complained seemingly to himself after a long stretch of silence. Yet just as he finished speaking, a smirk curved his lips and he raised his eyes on Githa. "Say, Githa?" he asked mockingly. "Want to make a few coppers? You could mend them for me while the lady and I wait off the week here."

Obviously not amused by his jape, the woman glanced at Sandor, her mouth pulled in a frown. "I'm no seamstress, m'lord. Ask Ingrith. She'll probably do it for you if the pay's worth the trouble. Myself, I'm busy enough as it is."

"Busy doing what? Being the village's witch?" Sandor reposted, his previous smirk now a sneer.

Sighing deeply, Githa shook her head in a mix of annoyance and despair. "I told you already I was no witch. How many times do you need me to repeat it to you before you understand? Gods, men can be hard-headed sometimes! Good thing I've never remarried."

Sandor snorted, keeping his gaze lowered to his task of storing his garbs back into his saddlebag. "Not sure you'd have found a willing man to begin with anyway."

Fearing a conflict was on the verge of exploding between them, Sansa hurried to interfere before Githa had a chance to react. "I'll mend your clothes for you if you want," she proposed to Sandor, hoping that would both solve the problem and distract them. "I'll have plenty of time for that in the days to come."

At hearing her speak, the Hound turned his head to peer at where she was installed behind Githa, his features softening a bit as he met her eyes. "No, little bird," he told her, most of the sharpness in his rough voice gone. "I'd rather you keep working on that pretty little scenery of yours. I don't want you to waste your delicate stitches and expensive silk thread on my dirty old socks. I'll ask Ingrith."

"I wouldn't have minded it. I would even have done it gladly," Sansa insisted.

Letting out a dry little laugh, Githa twisted into her chair to face her fully, putting her back to Sandor by the same action. "Don't you think you've done enough for him already, m'lady? You're of a far too generous and kind nature, if you ask me."

"Too generous? Perhaps," Sandor spat, his tone full of contempt. "But Lady Sansa has the best nature a woman can have. She's gentle, soft and feminine where the likes of you are bitter and just as coarse as I am."

Githa didn't contradict him. Instead, she straightened her back and gazed sideway at him, her arms folded over her chest. "My kind may not be as mild-mannered as you highborn folk expect your women to be, yet that makes us far more suited to face hardships. Being able to show kindness when it's called for is something we all should practice but being kind to everyone all time works only if one lives her life isolated from the real world, in a castle somewhere. Otherwise, it will only render a woman more vulnerable and end up putting more misery into her path. But I can see why a man of your sort would be glad of a compliant and gentle woman. Easier to-"

Sansa was getting tired of hearing them argue and she wasn't sure she could bear listening to Githa spelling out some more of Sandor's home truths. She was starting to feel a little dizzy and their angry voices only seemed to exacerbate her state. "Please, stop it!" she exclaimed without thinking, immediately regretting having raised her voice. "I… I would only like some silence for a moment. Please," she added in a meeker tone.

Both Sandor and Githa eyed her with surprise, however neither spoke again afterwards, and the little house abruptly regained its previous peacefulness.

Still installed in her bed, Sansa tried to continue her stitches but it was growing increasingly hard for her to concentrate. Her dizziness was worsening with every minute that passed and she was starting to feel warmth rising to her face and chest. After about the quarter of an hour of that, she dropped her embroidery to the floor by her bedside and pushed the blankets she had over herself down to her waist.

"All's fine, m'lady?" Githa asked.

"Yes," Sansa replied by reflex before thinking better of it. "I mean, no, not so much. I… I feel light-headed."

Out the corner of her eyes, she saw the Hound shift tensely in his chair, yet she didn't try to meet his gaze and kept her stare fixed to the ceiling instead, hoping that it might help stabilise the world around her.

"That's normal with moon tea. Don't worry, it's just a moment to pass," the woman said. Standing from her seat, she walked to Sansa and bent down to feel her forehead with her palm. "Hmm, you're skin's quite warm. I'll bring you a wet towel. That should help."

Leaving her, Githa walked to the corner of the house where a water basin was kept over a low stool. There were clean towels disposed over its rim and she soaked one into the water before coming back to Sansa's side and laying it on her brow. The towel was very cold but the girl welcomed the feel of it and even seized it to brush it over her face, neck and collarbone.

"Let me have a look to see how things are going," Githa demanded, crouching at the end of the bed.

Without waiting for an answer, she pulled Sansa's blanket up and raised her skirt. If her face hadn't been already so flushed, Sansa would undoubtedly have blushed in embarrassment but she didn't object nor tried to close her legs, knowing the woman was only doing her job.

"Still no bleeding. Humph, well it will come." With that, Githa regained her place on the rocking chair.

For an undetermined amount of time, Sansa kept her eyes closed with the towel over her brow but it quickly became lukewarm and totally inefficient against the heat she was assailed with._ It's so strange,_ she mused. _I thought the house was cold only an hour ago but now it feels like a furnace. _Opening her eyes in slits to have a look around, she saw Githa wore a shawl over her woollen dress and the Hound two layers of tunics and his scarf around his neck. There was nothing normal in her being so hot, only covered with a thin shift, and yet she was sweating profusely and on the verge of suffocating. Grasping the end of the blankets she still had down her waist, she yanked them away and tossed them to the floor, the minute gesture all but exhausting her. Her vision was growing blurred now and so she shut her eyes again and let out a moan.

"Little bird, how are you feeling?" the Hound asked. Sansa could hear concern in his voice.

"Not good… I'm so hot…"

Rising to her feet, Githa bent over Sansa to touch her face again. "You're burning, m'lady," she remarked, removing the lukewarm towel from her brow. "We'll try to cool you down," she added, her voice calm yet urgent.

Heading to the water basin, she came back an instant later with a few very cold wet towels. She placed one on Sansa's forehead and another around her collarbone and then kneeled at the end of the bed.

"Still no blood," she announced after having lifted her skirt again. "How's your tummy, m'lady? Any pain there yet?"

"Hmm… no…" Sansa muttered. It was that at least. She was feeling unwell enough already as it was.

With another wet towel she had, Githa started rubbing Sansa's legs to cool them down, leaving her skirt bunched up over her thighs in such a way that her lady's part was only barely covered. It was a very improper position to be in, nevertheless Sansa was well past caring.

Groaning, she threw her head back and opened her eyes. She had a hard time keeping her focus on anything, still rolling the back of her head against the fur her upper body was propped against, she found the Hound with her gaze. He was not installed at his place by the table anymore but standing just a few steps behind Githa and though she could not clearly make out his features, she could tell he was staring down at her and that his massive build was as taut as a bow.

"I'm thirsty," Sansa complained in a whisper so weak and hoarse, she wasn't sure it would be heard.

Githa had moved to her side and rolled the long sleeves of her shift up to her shoulders. Holding up one of Sansa's naked arms in a strong hand, she was rubbing her wet towel over its burning skin with the other. "What are you waiting for, m'lord? Didn't you hear your lady? _Get her some water_!" the woman impatiently bid Sandor, nodding toward where the cauldron she had used to melt snow earlier this afternoon was resting over the floor by the hearth.

For an eye blink or two, the man hesitated, apparently not too happy to be ordered around by Githa. Yet he shortly cursed and did as she had asked anyway. After having found a cup on one of the shelves on the wall, he strode to the cauldron and dipped it inside. Then he leaned over Sansa and handed her the cup.

"Here, little bird," he told her gently. "Drink."

Sansa did as he asked and took the cup with trembling hands, squinting against the light of the room. Although she remembered well enough how dim the house had been, even the small flames of the fire and the faint sunbeams that passed through the hide windows were now blinding to her. Blinking repeatedly, she drank the whole cup in one single sip.

"You want more?" the Hound inquired just as soon.

"Please," she murmured, nodding very faintly.

A moment later, he had brought back the same cup filled with more water and she drank it in two sips this time.

"Thank you," Sansa managed afterwards, shutting her eyes and letting her upper body fall back onto the fur behind it.

"Could you remove the bedroll she has at her back, m'lord? It's too high. She needs to rest properly now."

Sandor grunted but he didn't argue and did as he was instructed before gingerly helping Sansa to lie down.

"Give me your other arm now, m'lady," Githa directed her.

Seizing it even before Sansa had a chance to move it herself, the woman slid her towel over its length, yet she had only just started when a shiver went through Sansa. From incredibly hot, the room suddenly seemed to chill down quite dramatically. All the water Githa had spread over Sansa's skin, added to the sweat which had beaded all over her rapidly became as freezing as ice.

Her teeth chattering and limbs shaking, Sansa hugged herself. "I'm c... c… cold…" she stammered, tears welling in her eyes. Gods, what was happening to her? She had never felt so sick!

"You're cold now, m'lady? Hmm, that's not good, not good at all." With that, Githa picked up the blankets Sansa had thrown to the floor a few minutes earlier and laid them back over her.

"Not good?" the Hound repeated harshly. "What the fuck's happening to her?"

"A fever of course, m'lord. While one's normal when a woman takes moon tea, hers is far too strong. I'm worried, if I'm to be honest with you."

"_You're worried_?" he repeated her words again in a mix of incredulity and anger. "What by the buggering Stranger did you do to her?"

"Nothing that was not required due to your own actions, m'lord!" the woman rejoined tartly. "Now could you please go to the other house and ask Ingrith to come back with another cauldron of snow? I'll need both cold and hot water."

Growling, Sandor stormed out of the house and slammed the door behind him, not even bothering to put on his cloak.

Sansa's state was deteriorating fast. She had only vaguely understood what Githa and the Hound had just argued about. It had felt to her as if they were referring to someone else that had naught to do with her, using words that held no meaning.

Ingrith and Sandor came back some time later. The old woman spoke and Sansa opened her eyes in very slim cracks but she could now neither distinguish anything more than fuzzy shadows above her nor understand anything of what those around her were saying at all. She felt completely remote from them even while she knew they were right next to her. Gradually, it seemed to her as if her bed was getting dragged lower and lower into the floor to a chasm under the house. It was as if the seven hells were reaching for her and in fact, she was already bothered by the heat of their eternal flames. From cold, she was now getting hot again, sweating under her covers.

Her eyes squeezed shut, she complained about it. "Hot…" she whispered while squirming uncomfortably, her voice so very distant to her own ears.

At that, the blankets were instantly drawn off of Sansa again and a cold and wet rag brushed over her skin. All of her senses were increasingly incomprehensible to her. Her whole body was numb and her eyelids so very heavy, even keeping her eyes opened in the slightest of slits was a struggle. There was hardly any point in bothering though, the world around her having become almost totally indistinct, and so she shortly yielded to her weakness and stopped fighting altogether.

For what appeared like an eternity to Sansa, it was as if naught existed at all. Or perhaps more precisely, like what existed didn't matter to her. While she still heard faraway noises and felt touches on her body, neither pertained to her anymore. At one point though just as she was about to forget herself completely, some very potent vertigo took over her and she was unexpectedly dragged out of her oblivion. Tensing, she fought to regain her balance until the swaying stopped so abruptly that her whole body shook in a violent jerk.

Gasping, Sansa stayed motionless for an instant and breathed in deeply, relieved by the renewed stillness of the world. Yet soon, the heavy silence that surrounded her began to unnerve her. Her eyes popping open at once, she was immediately startled to realise she was neither in the little house anymore nor lying on her bed but standing in a forest very alike that of the Riverlands she and the Hound had crossed for so long throughout the previous moons. As if it had been waiting for her to open her eyes, the wind got up, howling high above her head like a wolf. Judging by the dimness of the place, it was dusk but the sky was strangely luminescent. It was cloudless and had a colour somewhere in-between gold and bronze which was just as bright wherever the eyes looked, as if it was not the sun but the sky itself from which the light came. The contrast against the darkness of the woods was quite impressive, for the glow didn't reach the land below. Around Sansa, the trees were tall and as black as pitch, their threatening forms seemingly entirely made out of shadows.

"Where am I?" she asked aloud.

_You're dreaming,_ a very distant part of her informed her but she didn't grasp the significance behind the words and quickly forgot about them altogether.

It was not winter in this forest but autumn. There were dead leaves everywhere on the ground and the wind which blew in the canopy made those which had still not fallen rattle against one another other noisily.

On edge, Sansa started walking, clueless of where she was going but certain she couldn't stay in this eerie place much longer. With each of the steps she took, the leaves underfoot were crushed in a soft, crackling sound. She could hear her own breathing resound loudly into her ears over the never-ending lament of the wind, getting more and more ragged as she kept progressing through the dark forest.

Cautious not to trip over whatever lay hidden under the deep blanket of dead leaves, Sansa advanced at a steady pace, not once meeting a soul or living creature for many long minutes, until she suddenly saw something move some distance ahead of her. It was an animal, she quickly surmised and while she could only make out the beast's dark shape, she could tell it was quite large._ It's a dog, _she soon thought to herself. _Or no, not a dog. A wolf. A direwolf._

"Lady?" Sansa called, hope rousing in her heart in spite of herself. Lady was dead, it couldn't be her.

At hearing the name, the direwolf immediately cocked its head and very slowly headed in her direction. Sansa hastened her walk to a stride and then, swiftly started running when a beam of light reached the direwolf's face. _Lady!_ It was her indeed! Oh gods, how Sansa had missed her! She had grown to her full size now and the girl smiled to herself to see her looking so well, until… until her eyes fell on Lady's neck and she caught glimpse of the gaping gash which sliced had her throat opened and of the veins and tendons that came out of it in the most gruesome manner. The fur around her wound was all caked with dried blood, some fresh drops still slowly running along its hair.

Sansa ceased running at once, horror-stricken, yet just as she did, the direwolf accelerated. As if she resented her for her demise, she jumped and snarled at her and for an instant, Sansa believed she would attack her.

"No! Lady! It was not my fault! I didn't know the Lannisters were so cruel at the time! Please forgive me!" she implored her to understand.

She shut her eyes, expecting to feel the direwolf's fangs around her throat any second. Yet to her utter surprise, nothing happened and when she opened her them again just a couple of heartbeats later, Lady had vanished into thin air.

A sob shaking her, Sansa bit hard at her bottom lip and resumed walking, fighting not to cry. She had not taken more than a few steps when she heard a voice coming from the sky itself, compelling her to stop in her progress.

"Sansa! Look! Look at it!" Joffrey's voice boomed through the forest.

Sweeping her gaze around herself, Sansa flinched as it fell on a severed head perched on a high spike only a couple of yards away from her. A scream escaped her lips as she peered at it and recognised it as her father's rotten head.

Heedlessly, she began running as fast as she could and with tears welling in her eyes. She kept at it for a very, very long time. So long that she eventually ended up forgetting what she was fleeing from at all but she continued anyway, the fear that consumed her too acute to be ignored.

Hours seemed to pass by like this, the scenery never changing much and thus Sansa was quite taken aback when at one point the forest unexpectedly opened before her on a large glade. A loud and repetitive sound was echoing through its space but Sansa couldn't locate its source._ What is it?_ she wondered uneasily.

Nervous, she halted to take in her new surroundings, her gaze shortly falling on a very tall and broad man standing at the centre of the clearing. It was strange that she had not noticed him before. It was as if he had only just materialised.

At first, the man didn't seem aware of her presence, so busy he was chopping wood with a very scary looking war axe. However, he shortly straightened his back and leaned the head of his axe to the ground before him to gaze her way.

It was the Hound, Sansa realised. He was bare-chested and sweaty and from the moment he locked eyes with her, she was seized with fear for her life. Unhurriedly, he let his stare travel down her curves with obvious thirst and when she glanced down at herself, Sansa was shocked to see she was only covered with a thin and completely soaked white shift. The Hound himself seemed delighted by the sight, in a very menacing sort of way that reminded her of a starving wolf having just spotted an easy prey.

"What… what do you want from me?" Sansa asked, feeling instantly foolish. She knew very well what it was he wanted.

The man snorted. "I want a taste of you, little bird. You look so sweet."

"But, my lord! I must remain a maiden! You are my guard and swore to protect me… you can't take me. I beg you not to take me!" Sansa cried, backing away from him.

For sole reply, the Hound grinned wolfishly at her. He started walking toward her and Sansa's heart jumped in her throat. Not wasting a second, she turned around with the intent to flee from him, hearing the sound of his boots hit the ground as he sprinted after her.

"What's the point in running, little bird? You know I'll always end up catching you. You know you'll never be free of me." His words had been hushed and yet Sansa heard them distinctively, same as if he had whispered them in her ear.

"No! No, leave me! Please!" Sansa supplicated him, even as she knew he spoke the truth.

Turning her head around to have a quick glance, she saw the Hound was only a couple of steps behind her, still holding his war axe in his hands. Was he going to kill her?

Just as the question crossed her mind, he seized her firmly by the wrist, stopping her in her track at once. "I've got you, little bird!" he announced before grasping her shoulder with his other hand and forcing her onto the ground.

When Sansa next gazed up, the war axe was nowhere to be seen but the Hound had doubled, or even tripled in size. He was a giant, his head reaching as high as the canopy. The golden sky glowed all around him - even more brightly than before - and she could only discern the outline of his colossal build.

"I'll have a song from you, little bird, whether you will it or no. You promised me a song."

Sansa began weeping but her cries didn't soften the man and he pitilessly tore her wet shift from her body. His manhood was a huge and terrifying thing and when he buried it into her, the pain that pieced her belly was indescribable.

"Aaaah!" Sansa cried into the night for no one to hear.

"Aaaah!" she kept on screaming until she fell down from the sky, landing in her bed.

As abruptly as that, she was back in the little house, yet her pain was still as real and intent. All around her, there were movements, noises and indistinct voices speaking low and fast.

"Ahhhh! It hurts! _It huuuurts!_" Sansa cried, holding her middle in agony. She felt as if hundreds of knives were all simultaneously stabbing into her stomach, some of them digging and twisting deeply into her flesh. Spasms began shaking her. She was losing control over her body and thrashing onto the mattress.

"Hold her! Hold her down, Ingrith! Help me please," Githa demanded the old woman.

Two sets of hands successfully immobilised Sansa against her bed. The girl could hear her own inhuman wails echo into the house. She had never been in so much pain in all of her life. _That's it. I'm dying,_ was the last coherent thought she had.

* * *

"What the fuck is happening to her?!" Sandor roared.

He was standing about three steps away from Sansa's bed, looking down at her in dismay. While she had been feverish and gone in and out of consciousness for the last couple of hours, at least she had not appeared to truly suffer before. To see her in such pain was the worst of tortures to Sandor. He'd have rather been beaten bloody than have to witness this.

"She's not reacting well to the moon tea. Not at all," Githa said.

The woman was undeniably agitated. A sheen of sweat was covering her brow and upper lip and her eyes were wide and anxious. She had fixed her long brown and grey hair in a loose bun over her head with a long pin shoved through a leather strap. Some locks were coming out of it and they were wet from the sweat of her face and neck.

Sansa was crying loudly now and writhing senselessly on the bed. Both Ingrith and Githa were holding her down in an attempt to keep her from hurting herself.

"Can't you do anything to help her besides restraining her? I could do it for you while you brew her a potion or something. You must know of some herbs that could help her? Isn't it your bloody trade to cure people after all?" Sandor insistently questioned the woman. His hands balled in tight fists and jaw clenched, he was gazing down expectantly at her.

"No, more herbs are the last thing she needs. It's time that'll do the work for her now. At this point, it's the only thing that can cure her," Githa answered dryly, speaking through gritted teeth as she fought against Sansa's increasingly powerful spasms.

Sandor cursed under his breath, shifting in place. "Time? Can't you see she's in pain?! By the buggering Stranger, woman! You're going to leave her in this state for how long? What the-"

Just as he spoke, a long, heart-wrenching lament shook the little bird. Her eyes opened - round with fright and staring unseeingly at the ceiling – however less than an instant later the girl fainted. Two lone tears went rolling down her cheeks and her small form suddenly became as limp and unresponsive as a rag doll.

That seemed to worry Githa. She hastily brought her cheek near Sansa's mouth and found her pulse with a set of two fingers on the side of her neck. "She's still breathing and her heart is beating steadily, though a little fast. Thanks the heavens," she announced after a few agonizing seconds. She sounded exhausted. "Now, let's hope she stays strong. There's not much we can do but wait and see."

"Wait and see? And see _what_?" Sandor demanded sharply, unsure he truly wished to know.

Still kneeled by the little bird's side, the woman jerked her head upward to glare at him. "If she makes it and come back to us, m'lord! What did you think? We're there now!"

"If she makes it?" Sandor repeated slowly, his consternation mingling with his building rage. "You're bloody joking, I hope? What the fuck did you do to her?!"

"I gave her moon tea, just like you both wanted!" Githa retorted, visibly affronted by his insinuation that she was somehow to blame. "I told the lady about the risks she'd be taking, m'lord! She was warned and knew what she was getting into."

"Well _I didn't_," Sandor hissed, taking a step forward and pointing at his chest. "Why the seven bloody hells didn't you tell me?! I'd have liked to know!"

Leaping to her feet, Githa put her face as near as she could from his, her features red with anger. "I didn't tell you because it was _HER_ decision to make. Not _yours_, m'lord! She chose knowingly."

"Her decision? Her decision to die?! What the fuck are you talking about, you twice damned, crazy woman?" Sandor all but yelled at her.

"Don't blame me! I only wanted to help her! I knew there were risks and I told her about them because she had a right to be informed! But I also told her about the dangers she'd be facing keeping the child. Girls her age aren't supposed to give birth, m'lord! YOU are the only one really responsible for this predicament she's in! What by the old gods were you thinking taking a young girl like her into your bed, one not meant for you on top of that? You should be ashamed of yourself! She was not ready for that! You forced it on her and now, you see what you've done? She's perhaps dying and it's your fault. In all my years as a wise woman, I'll tell you! It's always with the young ones that I have the most problems. Their bodies _are not yet ready_!"

The bloody woman was getting far too insolent. Sandor couldn't bear it anymore, couldn't abide hearing her telling him all of these things. She needed to be silenced and quickly at that. Lowering his face at only an inch from hers, he brutally grasped her upper arm with his hand. "Will you shut the fuck up, you _buggering bloody old witch_!" he snarled at her.

"No! I won't! I have no pity for men like you!" Githa retaliated. Glowering at him, she tried to free herself from his hold but the man only closed his hand more firmly on her.

"Listen to me, Githa, and listen good," he told her, his tone calmer yet just as furious. He could feel the scarred corner of his mouth twitching and his eyes were narrowed and burning with hatred. "The girl better survive this. If she dies I swear it, _I'll kill you_. And then, I'll kill Ingrith there, and her two halfwit sons too," he promised, nodding at where the old woman was still kneeled onto the floor by the bed. The latter stiffened at hearing his words, her eyes grown wide. "I'll kill all the animals in those poxy stables out there and burn this entire farm to the bloody ground until _nothing_ is left to prove this place has ever existed at all. If I'm not satisfied afterwards, which I'm sure I won't be, I'll go to the next village and murder everyone there also. I'll track down everyone you've ever loved and cut them in half with my sword. Believe my bloody words, _I'm not japing here_. I've nothing to lose, nothing I care for in this damned, ugly, buggering world! _I'll fucking do it._ She better not die."

As he spoke his threats, Sandor finally glimpsed fear of the gods in Githa's eyes and for a very brief instant, the view made him feel better. Yet it didn't last. There was only so much satisfaction to be taken from intimidating others and the notion of vengeance.

"Go back to her now, _Githa_. She better survive," he reminded her, his voice a low rasp.

Cowered at last, the woman listened and wordlessly returned to Sansa's bedside but Sandor's wrath was far from soothed. Not sure what to do with himself, he booted the door opened with a growl and went out of the house. The sun having set a couple of hours ago already, it was now fully dark. A bitter wind was blowing over the forest and heavy snow was falling from the sky. The weather suited his frame of mind perfectly.

Striding blindly into the cold night, Sandor soon got near the main house. Many logs were piled up by its side in a neat stack that reached almost as high as the roof. Unable to control himself and frankly not giving a rat's arse, the man started kicking and punching at it with all of his might. Naught could suppress the ire that ran through him and thus he let it rise without any restraint, taking it out on the firewood as if it had played a part in the little bird's plight. The only thing which equalled his fury in strength at that instant was his feeling of helplessness. There was nothing he could do to help Sansa and that was the most frustrating and insufferable notion of all. Sandor couldn't stand how useless, empty and lost he felt - _he couldn't face it_.

At some point the door of the main house opened and the heads of the two halfwits peeked out to see what the racket was about. Sandor only had time to glance their way before they slammed the door closed again.

The wood was hard from the cold and the man opened the skin of his fists in many places as he restlessly hit the logs with them but he was well passed caring. If anything, the pain was making his general state more bearable - though only faintly. For a long time it seemed, he kept destroying the pile of firewood, yet eventually all the logs were dispersed into the deep snow around him, many broken into pieces, and he halted at last.

Dead tired, Sandor collapsed over one of the logs he had left intact and leaned his back to the house's wall. He was cold, had not even put on his cloak or gloves, but it hardly mattered to him. _She better survive, _he mused, panting, while gazing up at the falling snow._ If she dies, I'll die too._

* * *

The first thing that brought her back to the world was her thirst and then later on, the ache she felt everywhere. Her legs, her arms, her head… her belly. Oh gods, it was atrocious! A memory soon came back to her. It had been worse, far worse even. She was doing well now in comparison to how she had suffered, she didn't know how long ago_. It's gone now,_ she remembered suddenly. _The baby is gone._ She was not with child anymore and the thought filled her with sadness, no matter how illogical the feeling was. With tears in her eyes, Sansa allowed herself be dragged into oblivion again.

For a long time, she hovered in between nothingness and her general discomfort, going back and forth between them. Then progressively, Sansa's many aches began to lessen and she willed herself to come back to reality, without success. In her most conscious moments, she was aware of her body, of the bed under her and of some indistinct sounds around her. And most of all, of her thirst.

The Hound was snoring by her side, Sansa realised after a while. She managed to open her eyes in slits and saw his large form over the other bed by her side but the effort was so strenuous that she had to close them back just as soon. For a long moment afterwards, she kept them shut and perhaps even slept, she wasn't certain, yet at one point she managed to open them again, very slightly. She was so very thirsty.

"Water… please," she breathed, her own voice alien to her. It was almost as rough as the Hound's.

No one reacted. Sansa tried to move, only she was too weak and so she attempted to speak again. "Water… I'm thirsty."

"Little bird?" the Hound rasped from his place over his bed. By the sound of his reply, he was obviously still half-asleep.

Sansa had no strength to answer back. Opening her heavy eyelids, she gazed sideway at Sandor just in time to see him hurriedly get off of his bed and almost stumble to the floor in his haste. Yet the next thing she knew, he was kneeling by her side and cupping her cheek with in a large and warm hand.

"Little bird, you're awake?" he asked, brushing away the locks of hair that fell on her face. The fact that he was taken aback was unmistakable.

Sansa squinted at him. Her vision was still quite fuzzy. "I'm thirsty," she whispered. It was full day now. There was light coming into the house, passing through the hide windows.

"Gods, little bird… You're awake. You've made it!" Sandor let out with undeniable relief. He exhaled visibly then - his shoulders slumping as he did - and looked down at her, caressing her face with calloused finger. He seemed a bit overwhelmed, as if he couldn't believe what was happening. After a moment, he shook himself. "Right. Water," he added as an afterthought.

Without losing a beat, he moved away from her before coming back a split second later with a cup of water. "Here. Drink," he bid her, holding her face with a hand and the cup with the other.

Sansa accepted the water gratefully. Her throat was so dry it hurt to swallow but she drank it all anyway.

"She's back… Thanks the gods," Githa's voice came from the rocking chair. She had been sleeping in it and was now yawning and stretching.

"Drink, little bird. I have more water for you," Sandor bid her. He lifted the cup to Sansa's lips and she gladly sipped from it again.

Standing from her seat, Githa walked to her bedside and touched her brow with her hand. "The fever has lessened quite a lot. That's excellent news. She'll need more rest but if she came back at this point, I think she's out of danger," she affirmed.

"Good," Sandor rasped, still kneeled next to Sansa's bed.

The girl could only see Githa's blurred figure and trying to peer at it, she began to feel dizzy and squeezed her eyes shut again, frowning at how the effort momentarily revived her headache.

"Yes that's it, little bird. Go back to sleep now. You heard what Githa said? You need to rest some more," Sandor breathed, caressing her face with his knuckle.

It felt good and so Sansa stretched her neck to lean into his touch. The Hound grunted approvingly and laid both his palms over her cheeks, his thumbs gently sliding under her chin and the tips of his fingers digging into the root of her hair.

"Little bird…. Get better now. You need your strength back." he murmured. As he spoke, he brought his face very near hers and for a brief instant, Sansa wondered if he would kiss her, full on the lips right before Githa.

She kept her eyes closed and waited – oddly nervous in spite of how she was only barely conscious - but soon, Sandor drew back from her instead. Still feeling his touch on her face and hair as he continued caressing her softly, Sansa was shortly dragged into the abyss of sleep again.

* * *

Time passed weirdly afterwards. Every once in a while, Sansa became dimly awake but it never lasted very long. On many of these occasions, she was given water by either Sandor or Githa and twice, she was brought over the chamber pot by the woman so that she could make water. It seemed like weeks passed as thus, yet eventually the thick mist she had was enveloped in thinned and she truly came back to life. It was fully dark again by then and she was hungry, so very hungry.

"Sandor?" she called. She could hear him snore softly by her side. Raising her head slightly to scan the room, she saw they were alone. "Sandor?"

He was lying on his back over the other bed by her side with his booted feet jutting out at the end of it and was still fully dressed with no cover over himself. Stirring, he uttered a surprised grunt. "Little bird?" he asked, his voice more gravelly than ever. Rolling onto his side, he propped himself on his elbow and peered at her. "Awake again?"

Looking at him, Sansa noticed he was still dressed exactly as he had been the afternoon she had taken moon tea. Dark circles were clearly visible under his eyes and his lank hair was tangled and messy.

"Yes. I feel more awake than I did since… since…"

"It's been more than a day since you've taken that damned moon tea." He snorted softly at that and stood from his bed. "Worst day of my life."

_Only a day?_ Sansa thought in astonishment. It had seemed like weeks to her but then the meaning of his words drew on her. "The worst… the worst day?" she repeated incredulously. He couldn't really mean that. It wasn't like the Hound had had an easy life and had not known his share of horrors.

For sole response, he smiled wearily at her and kneeled by her side. "Little bird, you're fine now. You're stronger than you look. You're a survivor - just like I am."

Stroking her hair, he slid his other hand over her waist to massage it. Then he leaned over her to meet her lips with his, kissing her with a softness that didn't seem to fit a man such as him at all. Although Sandor's stubble was rough and scratchy against her skin, Sansa welcomed his mouth on hers. She even kissed him back and lifted a hand to his shoulder. She was touched that he had been so worried about her and his gentleness and attention warmed her heart.

After a moment, the Hound broke the kiss and pulled away. He began studying her and Sansa blushed at the intensity in his eyes. While he looked very serious, there was a longing in them and something else she couldn't put her finger on. "Need anything, little bird?" he queried, his stare never leaving her.

"Yes, please. I'm… I'm hungry," she informed him, feeling peculiarly shy.

"Hmm, yes. I'll ask Ingrith to prepare you something. I think she still has some of that strew we ate yesterday."

Sansa nodded and Sandor stroked her hair one last time, then stood up, put on his cloak and left her alone. He came back with Ingrith and Githa only a few minutes later and lit the tall half-melted beeswax candle that stood at the centre of the table. Both women appeared tired, the Hound having probably just woken them up, but it was clear they were sincerely relieved to see Sansa was alert and hungry.

"Gods, m'lady. You gave us quite a fright. Glad to see you're doing well again," Ingrith told her, her tone kind and motherly.

A tired yet content expression on her face, Githa approached Sansa and touched her over the brow. "The fever is completely gone now. That's good. Very good."

Behind the two women, the Hound was taking a long, noisy gulp out of a wineskin, his head tipped upward.

"I'd take some of that too, m'lord, if you'd be so kind. I think I've earned it," Githa stated, glancing at him over her shoulder.

Snorting, the man narrowed his eyes at her, a smirk shortly curving his lips. "Alright. Why not?" He headed to the shelves and found a cup. "Want some, Ingrith?"

"No thank you, m'lord. I'm fine."

"Humph. Your choice," he mumbled, handing a cup filled with wine to Githa. "What about you, Sansa?"

"It's best she eats before. Drinking wine on an empty stomach is never good but in her case it wouldn't be wise at all after what she's been through. Better she wait a few days even," Githa answered before Sansa had a chance to.

Sandor grunted and he sat back onto his bed, swigging from his wineskin again.

Ingrith had brought a cauldron with some stew in it and she was installing it into the hearth. Once she had stoked the fire, she and Githa helped Sansa sit up into her bed and installed her rolled up bedroll under the fur she had for pillow behind her back. The old woman then returned to the hearth to mix the stew with a long ladle even as Githa took place over the rocking chair not far from Sansa's bed, sipping at her wine.

As they waited for the stew to be warm enough, the Hound gave Sansa some water. Afterwards, he sat down directly over the floor at her bedside and insisted on feeding her himself once the stew was ready, one spoon at a time as if she was an infant. While it wasn't really dignified, Sansa was too weak to object and accepted his help, thanking him after almost every spoonful. That seemed to amuse him quite a lot.

Once she was sated, Sansa shut her eyes and exhaled, exhausted already. "I've never felt so weak and tired," she complained.

"It's normal, m'lady. You need to rest as much as you can now and regain your strength. The old gods know you'll need a lot of it. But you'll be alright, I'm certain about that. Otherwise you'd have had other symptoms by now," Githa said.

"I do hope so, or else, we won't be able to leave in a week as planned. Do you think I should be well enough by then?" Sansa asked the woman.

When she didn't get an answer, the girl opened her eyes to see that Sandor and Githa were glancing uneasily at one another.

"What is it?" she inquired, suddenly worried.

"Well," Githa started awkwardly, her face creasing in many deep lines and the corner of her lips pulling downward. "It didn't work, m'lady. Didn't he tell you?"

"Had no time," the Hound muttered.

"Didn't work?" Sansa wasn't sure she understood.

Sighing, the woman gazed at her with compassion. "I'm very sorry, m'lady but although you suffered from many side effects, you didn't lose so much as a single drop of blood. The babe's still there." Then, looking reproachfully at Sandor she added: "I think it'll be as strong and hard-headed as its father. You can already tell it'll take after him.

The words hit Sansa like a ton of brick. All of a sudden, it was as if the world around her crumbled into pieces. "I'm… I'm still with child?" she asked disbelievingly.

"That you are. And after the way you've reacted to moon tea, I'm not giving you more of it. Oh, no. I'm sorry, m'lady but you'll have to go through with this and bear this child you're carrying after all."

Sansa felt as if she was going to be sick all over again and faint. She could feel the colour drain out of her face and hear her pulse beat loudly into her ears. Tears were starting to pearl at the corner of her eyes and her bottom lip was quivering.

"Little bird, shhh, don't cry. It's alright now," the Hound assured her, rising to his knees and leaning over her. He seemed genuinely concerned, as if he feared a resurgence of her fever. "Ingrith and I had time to talk while you slept and we've come up with a solution – or at least, as close to one as we're likely to get at this point. There would be no sense in us moving from this farm in your state and so we'll stay here as we wait off the moons it'll take before the babe's fully grown and ready to face the world. You won't lack for anything here at least and be safe and warm for as long as it takes." Tears were rolling down Sansa's cheeks now and Sandor brushed them away with his thumbs. He stroked her hair with all the care in the world but Sansa only looked down, unable to meet his gaze. "Ingrith will hire a wet nurse from the village once you've given birth and then I'll bring you back to Winterfell as soon as you'll have recuperated. We'll find a good excuse for our delay. Gods, we'll have had time enough for that in the meantime. Ingrith agreed to raise the child and as for myself, I'll take my responsibilities and pay for everything it'll need and more as it grows up. I'll even come back to this farm every other year if I can take some time off to make sure all is fine and give Ingrith more gold. See? Everything's taken care of. You won't have to worry, little bird."

Gods, Sansa was starting to be dizzy again. Her whole body was shivering, her heart hammering violently into her chest. This couldn't be real. She was probably still not truly awake. It was another nightmare. And yet, and yet she knew this was happening indeed. _Oh, Seven help me!_ she mused. Tears flooding down her cheeks, Sansa lifted her hands to her face and then, coming out of her own throat, she heard a series of sobs and whimpers all more poignant than the next reverberate through the little house.


	13. Chapter 13

_Hi everyone! Chapter 13 is finally completed! Just to warn you, there are only two chapters left for this story and sadly the updates will be even slower to come from now because I'll be more busy in the months to come. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Special thanks to Leigh of Oldstone for her help with this chapter. :)_

* * *

It took Sansa about a week to fully recover from the horrible fever drinking moon tea had triggered in her. The first few days were the roughest of all. She was so weak and tired that she spent most of her time sleeping and needed help even to go to the chamber pot. Every time she woke up, she was extremely disoriented and it always took her a couple of minutes to remember where she was. Yet worst of all was her state of mind. Apart from after her father had been beheaded, she had never been so depressed in all her life. The waves of despondency she was assailed with whenever she pondered over her situation were beyond violent. It was still hard for her to grasp that even after everything she had gone through, she would still have to bear the Hound's bastard. It seemed impossible. Nevertheless, her despair was made even worse by the guilt the knowledge that she had tried to kill it woke in her. Naught had worked out her way in the end, for while the abortion had failed, she had still suffered from the negative aspects of her decision to take moon tea. It was horrible and not crying was a constant struggle for her, one she continuously lost.

Throughout those first few days, Sandor almost never left her side. He was there for her whenever she needed him, whether it be to give her some water, feed her or fetch her clean handkerchiefs. Despite her poor mental state, Sansa was touched by his constant attention. He was so patient with her and never lost his temper, even when she sobbed for hours into her pillow. Yet, she could tell he was a bit lost when that happened and that he had no clue on how to react. Most often, he would sit by her bedside and stroke her hair in silence, his gaze lost into the fire.

After about three days of that, Sansa gradually started to dry out her tears and accept her fate. Ever since she had learned she was still expecting, she had been too absorbed by her own anguish to see clearly. She had thought the gods to be cruel to her, that they had let her down, and was now only starting to realise the situation was far from just about herself. There was another life taking roots in her and if the gods had decided to save it, it couldn't be merely to punish her. It would indeed make no sense that they would create a child and then protect it against the moon tea she had drunk only to give her a lesson when it was well known each life had its own purpose. If the gods had willed the baby to survive, it was not her place to question or resent them, for they must have their reason. Her child probably had a special destiny reserved ahead of it and would do something of importance one day, or else they would have let it die. There was no other explanation.

While these revelations didn't make the notion that she had attempted to rid herself of her own flesh any easier, Sansa tried to find comfort in the idea that the gods would know just how distressed she had been and not judge her too harshly for her mistake. They would know this was not something she would have ever attempted had she not believed it was her only viable option.

And so on the fifth day after she had first came round, Sansa decided it was time she thanked the gods for their intervention. Ingrith had told her there was a weirwood tree over which's trunk a face had been carved not far in the forest behind the farm. She and her sons often went there to pray and they maintained a trail to access it, removing the plants and branches that obstructed it during the summer and shovelling most of the snow that covered it during the winter. For the last two days, Sansa had felt much better and she had been able to leave her bed and walk about the house without any help as well as to eat her meals at the table. Yesterday, she had even stayed in the rocking chair by the hearth and worked on her embroidery for many hours without being too tired at the end of it. Yet when she told the Hound about her intention to go to the weirwood tree, the man was far from convinced it was a good idea and he flat-out refused at first.

"I need to pray the old gods! It's important!" Sansa insisted.

"Why can't you pray to them in here? If your gods are truly merciful, they'll understand you're too weak to venture outside."

"But I'm not too weak! See?" she said, standing from her chair. "I can do it. The weirwood is only a few minutes walk from here from what Ingrith told me. I really need to thank the gods for having allowed me to live through my illness. It'd be very ungrateful of me not to do it. Please!" she begged him, her brow knitted and eyes pleading.

"Alright then," the Hound conceded with evident reluctance. "But we'll stay there only a few minutes. And you'll go back to bed and rest as soon as we're back. Agreed?"

Beaming at him, Sansa nodded and hurriedly turned around to find a dress.

She hadn't told him she also intended to thank the old gods for having saved the baby, for she feared he wouldn't understand her abrupt change of heart. And to be completely honest, it wasn't like she had totally accepted the gods decision either yet, however she was working on it and knew that thanking them properly was the first step to take in that direction. It was only normal that it took her some time. One couldn't go from utter despondency to genuine gratefulness in just few days after all.

Once Sandor had helped her don a gown over her shift and put on her boots, mittens and cloak, they both exited the house and headed toward the forest. It was true that Sansa was still weak and it became more apparent with each new step she took into the snow but by holding onto Sandor's arm and progressing slowly, she felt stable enough on her feet. The weather was quite cold and windy and a very light snow was falling from the thick greyish clouds above. The trail Ingrith had told her about was easily found and they reached the weirwood tree a few minutes later. It was very tall and looked extremely old. While it had lost all of its red hand-shaped leaves, there was no way Sansa mistook the tree for anything but a weirwood with the whiteness of its bark and the face carved into it. Once she got near enough, she kneeled down before it and joined her hands in prayer. A few steps behind her, the Hound stood silently, waiting, and though Sansa couldn't see him, she could feel his stare on her.

_Thank you, old gods. Thank you for my recovery. And also, for having saved my child,_ she told them. _My son, she added_, touching her flat belly. It would be a boy she decided at that instant and he would be just as strong as his father. The fact that he had survived the moon tea was already proof of that.

* * *

As she had promised once Sansa was out of danger, Githa came back a week later. She was pleased to see the girl out of bed and looking so healthy and commented on how her cheeks had regained their colour. Sansa agreed she felt much better, though on the downside her morning sickness had resumed with her recovery. At hearing her complaint, Githa nodded in understanding and fished out a little package of herbs from her pouch. She set it down on the table, instructing Sansa to infuse a tablespoon of its content in a cup of boiling water for a few minutes and drink it whenever her queasiness was back to make it more bearable.

From the moment Githa produced the package, the Hound stood from his seat and raised his voice to object with much vehemence. It took the woman almost half an hour to convince him these new herbs had nothing to do with moon tea and that there was no danger to them. After many back and forth, curses and insults, he finally very grudgingly agreed that Sansa tried them out on the condition that she took very small doses to begin with.

"Prepare them for her yourself if you want to be certain, m'lord," Githa told him tartly as she stood from her chair to leave. "And make certain she eats well - hearty and varied meals. She must drink milk, eat cheese, dried fruits and nuts. I know these are all expensive goods but I think a man such as you can afford to pay. Make sure she never lacks of anything."

"I will," Sandor answered curtly.

"Also, staying inside at all time is not healthy for anyone, let alone a mother-to-be. The lady and her babe will need some fresh air and so she must go out everyday when the weather permits it," Githa added before shutting the door behind her.

Although Sandor's dislike of Githa was beyond obvious, he took her directives very seriously and did exactly as she had instructed him. From the morrow of her visit, both Sansa and he took the habit of walking to the weirwood tree every morning. If the weather was really nice and Sansa was feeling in shape, he even brought her along with him as he exercised the horses farther back on the farm's field where they couldn't be seen from the road.

The Hound took Githa's other's advices about food to heart too, following them to the letter. At each mealtime, he made sure Sansa's portions were sufficiently large to his taste and he even watched over her as she ate to make sure she ingested every last spoonful of her serving with at least one piece of bread. When Ingrith next went to the village to do some errands, he gave her a few coins and told her about the food Githa had said a mother-to-be should never lack of. The woman came back with everything and more and from that day on, Sandor served Sansa a cup of warm milk and a bowl filled with nuts, dried fruits and some cheese every afternoon. He was adamant she must eat everything, even when she assured him she was already sated. His zeal was beginning to grate on her nerves.

"Can't eat like a little bird anymore, Sansa. Remember what Githa said?" he would unfailingly tell her when she complained about it.

Sansa was not used to eating so much. No more than a week after Githa's visit, to her horror she could already tell she had gained weight. Yet looking down at herself as she soaked in her bath one evening, she noticed that unlike she had believed, she was not growing fat in the least. It was only her breasts which had swollen again and her belly that was starting to show. The realisation sent Sansa's heart racing like a mad horse. Suddenly, her upcoming motherhood was not so abstract anymore. It was real, frighteningly real.

* * *

For the first two weeks of their stay at the farm, Sansa and the Hound slept separately. Their wooden beds were too small for two persons, less of all if one of those persons was Sandor. While Sansa missed his warmth and presence by her side at night, she was nevertheless glad for the respite in their coupling their sleeping arrangement provided. Of course, the man could have rejoined her in her bed in the night, rid himself of his tension and leave her just as soon, but he surprisingly never did it. The first week, Sansa had been in such poor state that giving herself to him had been totally out of the question, yet as she became healthy again throughout the second, she had half-expected him to lose patience and push her in a corner at any moment. The fact that he didn't and chose to leave her in peace instead was certainly not something she could have predicted.

As the third week started, still the situation remained the same, but the truth was Sansa didn't mind it in the least – to the contrary even. It had been so long since their last intercourse and with every day that had passed since then, her eagerness to break the ice and resume lying with the Hound had only decreased. In a way, it was as if she dreaded it, a little like a seasoned warrior might come to fear the prospect of battle after having stayed idle too long. Most of all though, the idea of undressing before him had began to make her nervous ever since that evening she had noticed her body was changing. Her newly rounded stomach preoccupied her a lot. While it was not apparent when she was clothed as of yet, it made her feel awfully self-conscious when she was naked. For some reason, she did not want Sandor to see it and had resolved in hiding it from him for as long as she could.

Despite their new platonic existence, the Hound was far from bitter or distant with Sansa. He often kissed her and stroked her hair and even pulled her onto his lap whenever she walked near enough his seat - which never felled to make her giggle - yet all of these gestures were devoid of lust. That was not something Sansa was used to but she did enjoy this new aspect of their relationship. It was not that he had never been affectionate with her before, because he had quite often, only his touch had almost always either led to him becoming aroused and wanting more or happened just after the deed. And that was perhaps another reason why she was loath to give herself to him again, for fear that he stopped being tender with her for no other motive than to be kind. Would he return to his usual behaviour if she allowed him into her bed again? Perhaps he was only trying to compensate for their lack of intimacy as he waited for her to be ready to be claimed again?

One morning sometime during their third week at the farm, Sansa woke up alone in her little bed and looked around herself as the haze of sleep slowly dissipated. Sandor was already installed by the table, eating a piece of bread and drinking a cup of the ale Ingrith had started brewing for him not long after their arrival. The man pretended it wasn't good. He had repeated as much often to Sansa when they were alone and yet he never refused any of the jugs Ingrith brought him and always drunk everything.

"Awake, little bird?" he asked when he saw her stir in her bed. "Slept well?"

Stretching her arms, Sansa sat up and yawned. "Yes. Though at one point, I woke up and I was a little cold and then it took me about an hour to fall asleep again."

"Really?" Sandor grunted, sounding concerned. "I'll ask Ingrith if she can lend us more blankets then. And if she doesn't have any to spare, I'll give her some coins so that she gets us a couple of new ones and give you one of mine in the meantime. I won't have you freezing."

"Thank you," Sansa murmured. She smiled to herself. The Hound had always made her physical comfort a priority yet these days, it was turning into an obsession. She was not about to complain though. Being well cared for was nice. "But will you not be cold if you give me one of your blankets?"

The man snorted. "I'll be fine. Don't waste your time worrying about me."

Sighing, Sansa looked at the sunbeams which came through one of the hide windows. She already had almost twice as many blankets and furs as he did and the prospect of depriving him of one more of the few he had made her feel really bad, yet she didn't have the will to refuse. There was truly not much she hated more than being cold. "We never had that problem before," Sansa regretted. "It was less cold in the Riverlands and we shared blankets of course but I think I got used to your warmth also." Then she paused before adding in a soft whisper: "It's strange sleeping alone. I miss you sometimes in the night… I feel lonely…"

At that, the Hound's stare immediately darted in her direction. He smiled at her, looking at once pleased and surprised. "Gods, little bird. I miss you too, you have no idea," he answered lowly. There was some relief in his voice, as if he had been waiting for her to say something like that, and Sansa realised by it that he had probably misinterpreted her words and thought she had meant... _Oh…_

"These two bloody beds are far too small though," the Hound continued, glaring at them even as a grin spread on his lips. "I'll fix that today, ask Ingrith for some tools. I'll find a way, that's for sure."

Nodding, Sansa smiled back at him stiffly. She didn't have the heart to tell him he had misunderstood her, especially not at seeing the good mood in which the prospect of sharing her bed again was putting him in. She couldn't refuse him access to her body forever anyway, this _had_ to happen at one point. _And I'll be indeed glad for his warmth at night,_ the girl reasoned, trying to be positive.

"I'm getting to it now, Sansa," Sandor announced, standing from his place and walking to where his cloak was hanging from a hook on the wall. "Need anything from next door?"

"No, I'm fine," Sansa replied quietly. Their eyes locked but the air of contentment there was about him made her even more uneasy and she swiftly averted her gaze. She felt guilty for not sharing his enthusiasm in a way.

Kneeling by her bed, the Hound pressed his lips to hers to kiss her languorously. As he did, he let his hand trail over her side. His touch was insistent; there was naught chaste about it anymore and though it lasted but a few seconds, Sansa's pulse was resounding loudly in her ears when he left the house.

All through the morning as she continued her embroidery by the hearth, Sandor worked on his project of transforming their two beds into a single one big enough for them both. She watched him with some reserve and even a bit of apprehension as he sawed off the planks on one side of each wooden bed and then fixed them together using the same planks he had removed. It didn't take him so long before he was done and he had already refilled their new larger bed with hay and laid all of their blankets and furs over it before noon.

"You won't be cold tonight, Sansa. That, I can promise you," he stated, looking down proudly at his handiwork.

They didn't go to sleep very late that night. From the moment Sansa was under the covers, the Hound got over her and slid his hands under her shift. He removed her smallclothes and shift, touching her everywhere just as soon with an urgency that was at once nerve-racking and intoxicating to her. When his hands travelled over her belly, they froze an instant to feel the very small bump which had recently appeared there. Her cheeks burning, Sansa shut her eyes, waiting for him to comment on it. Yet the Hound stayed silent and only kissed her lips, his palms still on her stomach and stroking it softly.

He took her very gently afterwards and while Sansa had been reluctant to give herself to him at first, she ended up welcoming his invasion and moaning as he slowly made his way into her. He kissed her again once he was fully sheathed, rocking his hips ever so slightly against hers at first. While they remained just as slow and steady, his comings-and-goings soon grew wider and with each of his movements in her, pressure built in Sansa's core. That, added to the pleasant tickling which ran all over her skin as the Hound fondled her breasts and side was making her lose her mind in the best way possible. With his fingers at the juncture of her legs, he was caressing her folds, his touch at once unrelenting and feather light. He had never been so careful with her, had always mounted her with the hunger and ferocity of a starving beast. Yet now, it was as if he feared he might break her and as he trailed his large hands over her curves, there was a sense of wonder in him that filled Sansa's stomach with butterflies. From feeling like she was something he yearned to conquer and possess, it was as if she had now become a goddess to be worshiped and Sansa relished in the impression so very much.

She reached her climax quickly, holding onto Sandor and letting out many long whimpers and gasps. She had missed it, she realised afterwards and so as he came not long after, she spread her legs as widely as she could, elated at the thought that she could bring him such bliss as she had just known. Once the Hound was done and panting, he collapsed by Sansa's side and snaked his arms around her. She nestled herself against him and fell asleep only minutes later, feeling truly warm and safe for the first time in more than a fortnight.

* * *

The weeks went on like that, uneventful and peaceful. Each day pretty much followed the same routine. A bowl of honeyed oatmeal for Sansa as she woke up, a walk to the weirwood tree with Sandor in the morning if the weather was not too harsh. Around noon, both of them ate lunch and she would take a nap not long after, for she was always tired afterwards. Sandor most often used the occasion to go outside and chop some wood, take care of the horses or set snares in the forest. When he was back, he always served Sansa her cup of warm milk and bowl of nuts, dried fruits and cheese. Then, Sansa usually worked on her embroidery by the hearth for the remaining of the afternoon until Ingrith brought them supper and a few hours later, she would go to bed. In a way, such quiet life was truly appeasing to Sansa after all those moons of travelling through Westeros and the constant state of stress she had been in during her stay at the Red Keep.

Also, she felt like she needed that time of peace. She knew she had many more trials waiting ahead of her, chief among them eventually having to go through labour and give birth to the Hound's child. Sansa had heard enough about delivery to know this wouldn't be an easy task. Yet, as if that wasn't daunting enough already, once both she and the baby were be strong enough, she would have to abandon it, brave winter and resume travelling towards Winterfell. It would be a long and arduous journey and once she would arrive to her family's castle, she would be reunited with her lady mother and brother.

While this should've been a joyous prospect, Sansa had come to dread facing them again throughout the last few moons. She had gone through so much since they had last seen her, half of which she could never share with them. The fact that she'd have been the Hound's mistress for almost a year by then and even have borne his child would need to stay secret forever or else her House's honour would be tainted by her fault. She would be a mother, while never being allowed to speak about it to anyone… Sansa had a hard time picturing how she could hide something so important to anybody, less of all her family. Nevertheless, she still had many moons of wait before any of this had to happen. Hopefully she would have time to adjust to the idea in the meantime. She had no choice but to accept all of this as her life anyway. And she would.

Githa came to check on Sansa every other week. She gave her more of the herbs which helped control her morning sickness and also some salve she prepared with herbs and sheep milk. She instructed her to apply some of it every day on her belly and breasts so as to keep the skin smooth. With her, she also always brought beeswax candles and wine along with other things Sandor had asked her to purchase and for which he paid of course. The hope was that by Ingrith not being the only one to buy all the food and supply Sansa and the Hound needed, it would prevent people from the village from wondering why the woman suddenly needed so much more of everything than usual and had the means to pay besides. To help in that sense, Ingrith had also started to alternate between the nearest village and another one an hour and a half in the other direction to do her weekly errands. Given that she was less known in that other village, she usually bought the most expensive goods Sandor asked for when she went there.

Every morning as she woke up, Sansa touched her belly. It seemed to her as if it was always a little bigger than on the previous day and after a moon and a half at the farm, anyone meeting her would have known at first glance that she was expecting. There was no hiding that bump anymore. By then, Githa had guessed that Sansa had lied about the possible conception date. She never scolded her about it but made it clear she was not fooled anymore one day that she was inspecting her belly.

"Everything seems fine, m'lady. How's your morning sickness?" she inquired as she lowered Sansa's skirts back over her stomach.

"It's completely gone," the girl replied with relief.

"Yes, that's normal. Most women don't have them anymore at about four moons like you," Githa said, looking at her with severe, knowing eyes.

The comment made Sansa blush. She was not proud to have been caught in her lie but she didn't contradict her either. There would indeed have been no sense in denying the truth at the point she was at and it was best for both her and the baby that the wise woman who would care for her until she gave birth knew how far along she was at anyhow.

From about the time she had recovered from the moon tea, Ingrith had started teaching Sansa how to knit and they often spent a few hours together in the afternoon making little socks, hats, swaddling blankets and tunics by the old woman's hearth as food slowly simmered over the fire. Sansa enjoyed her company for she was always kind and ready to lend her an attentive ear or give her advices when she needed them. Yet unlike Githa, she was never prying about her relation with Sandor nor did she ever speak against him, for which Sansa was grateful. They never talked much but their time together was always pleasant and made the longing Sansa had for her lady mother's comforting presence a bit more bearable.

At seeing the little clothes pilling up on one of the house's shelves, Sandor one day decided he should build a small wooden chest in which they could be stored until the baby's birth. While he spent many long hours on his project, the final result was not that impressive to be honest. The chest was crooked and its surface uneven even after the man had sanded and varnished it and yet Sansa was so happy when he'd first shown it to her. It meant so much to her that he had worked to create something with his own two hands for their child, especially since woodworking was not a skill he had ever practiced nor had any interest in.

Often, Sansa opened the chest's lid to admire all the little garments she and Ingrith had knitted so far. _So small,_ she thought one afternoon as she touched at a tiny pair of socks with a finger. Kneeled over the rushes by the chest's side, she had her head bowed over its content and her back to where the Hound was installed by the hearth, cleaning and sharpening his war axe.

It was hard to believe Sandor's own child could ever fit in such small clothes. _Has he himself ever been that size at all?_ She wondered, glancing at him over her shoulder. It seemed impossible. Aside from his brother the Mountain, he was the largest man she had ever seen. That a warrior as fearsome and hulking as he could once have fitted in the cradle of her arms was not something she could easily conceive.

Then unbidden, tears started welling in Sansa's eyes. _My son, I'm sure he'll be beautiful – and as strong and tall as his father as he grows into a man, _she mused caressing her rounded stomach. She had decided already more than a moon ago that she would have a son. Both Ingrith and Githa agreed with her. They said her belly had the right shape for it and that the hard-headedness the baby had shown staying in Sansa's womb in spite of the moon tea pointed in that direction also. Her child being a boy would be preferable anyway given that he would only ever get to know his father. It would be easier for both of them to bond when Sandor came to visit if he was male after all. They would have more in common, like fathers and sons always did, and the Hound could teach him all sorts of things in these occasions, like fathers ought to.

_But me, I'll never get to know him… A boy needs his mother too,_ Sansa thought, her tears rolling down her cheeks. He would be just a newborn when she left him and chances were it would be the last time she'd ever lay eyes on him. She would never be anything but a stranger to him, her name never spoken lest his full parentage be known, even by him.

Sansa had almost finished the embroidery she had been working on ever since her stay at Lord Harroway's Town at the beginning of her journey with Sandor and she had decided she would leave it to her son. It would be the only keepsake he would have of his mother and she hoped that he would keep it forever and treasure it just as much as she would his memory. Oh gods, he was not even born yet but she already had a hard time accepting the fact that she would have to give him up. While she may not have wanted him at first, her feelings for her unborn child had changed greatly over the last few weeks. The notion that she would have to go on with her existence without that little life which she'd have carried with her for nine moons was beyond heart wrenching to Sansa. And so as she contemplated it once more, the girl's lips began to quaver and her breathing to hasten. She would be breaking down at any second now, she could feel it. Lowering her face into her hands, she let out a sob, tears filling her palms just as soon.

"What is it, Sansa?" the Hound asked, raising his gaze from his war axe.

"I'm just… I'm just thinking about… about the baby," Sansa admitted with some difficulty, sniffing into her hands as she did.

"Humph, yes," he replied with no surprise. It was far from the first time she had a meltdown for that reason.

Sighing, he resumed cleaning his axe. Though he remained silent, Sansa could tell he was not indifferent to her sadness. He was simply not very apt with words, especially comforting ones.

Once she had her emotions under control again, Sansa shifted in her position over the floor to face Sandor. She rubbed her sleeve over her face and sponged off the worst of her tears with it. "Sandor?" she called, gazing at him through red and swollen eyes.

"Yes, little bird?"

"Promise me you'll make sure the baby is well looked after," she demanded him almost pleadingly.

"You don't trust Ingrith?" the Hound inquired quietly, his eyes meeting hers from over his axe.

"No, of course I do," Sansa hurried to reply. Over the last moon, she had come to genuinely care for the woman and knew her son would be in good hands with her. "She's a good person and I'm glad you've found her. Yet she's poor and I don't want the baby to lack for anything."

"I told you I would pay for all it needs, didn't I?"

"Yes," Sansa admitted.

"Now you don't think I'll keep my promise to you?" he added, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching just once.

"No, I'm sure you will," Sansa conceded in a whisper.

"Good," the Hound uttered, lowering his gaze to his axe again. From the floor by his side, he picked up a small oil bottle and poured some on a rag before rubbing it on the blade of his axe.

Sansa watched him, hesitant. "But, Sandor? There's something else I would like to ask of you," she murmured meekly after a few heartbeats. She wasn't sure how he would react to her other request.

"Go ahead."

She gulped and took a deep breath. "Promise me that when our… _our child_ will be old enough…" she started timidly, wavering again. It was the first time she referred aloud to him as 'theirs' and for some reason, it was making her nervous. "Promise me that you'll bring him back with you to King's Landing and take him as your squire."

Wincing, Sandor paused in his task to briefly ponder over her demand, his stare fixed on the fire before him. "Well, he'll need to be skillful enough for that first. Strong and hardworking too. I'm in the Kingsguard, little bird. I can't just have anyone for squire. He'll need to prove himself first."

While Sansa had prepared herself for a possible refusal on his part, his response nonetheless hurt her far more than she'd have expected. "But he'll be _your son_, Sandor! Of course he'll be strong, hardworking and skillful enough! If you train him and teach him all you know, I'm sure he could become just as formidable a warrior as you are when he's fully grown. He could defeat any knight the realm has to offer. _I just know it_!"

Snorting softly, Sandor leaned back into his chair and lowered his axe over his lap. He seemed tired but the corners of his mouth curved up faintly in something in-between a smile and a smirk. "It's not that simple, little bird. There's no guarantee he'll be anything like me. Were all your brothers exactly like your father? And was that wild little sister of yours the very image of your mother? I don't bloody think so."

Tear were pearling in Sansa's eyes again, yet she didn't feel like crying in the least. No, she was far too mad at him for not seeing eye-to-eye with her for that.

"One thing I can promise you though is that I'll make sure he learns a trade. One that'll suit him, whatever it is," the Hound continued, apparently unaware of how stung she was by his words. "And anyhow, Sansa, how can you be so sure it won't be a girl to begin with? In that case, I hope you won't want me to take her as my squire too - because I won't." At that, he barked a short, rough laugh and resumed oiling his axe.

"Oh, Sandor! Why would you say things like that? You're wrong! It _will_ be a boy and I know it! A mother can feel these kinds of things. You may not, but I do! Both Ingrith and Githa agree with me besides and I think I should trust them more than you in such matters," Sansa retorted, glowering at him. Both her hands balled in tight fists, she folded her arms over her chest and raised her chin. Visibly baffled, Sandor was eyeing her through narrowed eyes, his jaw and neck stiff and mouth pulled in a thin line. "And I don't see how he could be anything but a good swordsman. My father was, his brothers were, their father before them and even my two oldest brothers too! But most of all, _you _are! More than any of them even! He can't be anything other than skillful with a sword if well taught with such background."

His face twisting in a deep scowl, Sandor averted his stare from her. "As you say then. What the fuck do I know after all?" he hissed, sounding utterly annoyed. "Seven bloody hells," she heard him curse under his breath as he returned his attention on his axe again.

From resenting him for disagreeing with her, Sansa abruptly felt terrible. Her goal with this conversation had been to make sure the Hound would get involved in their child's life, yet instead of that, she had ended up attacking him when he had disagreed with her and rejecting all of his inputs. He may have been wrong in what he had said but it was not by criticizing and diminishing his opinion from the instant he uttered it that she would encourage him to keep an interest in the baby. She should never have yelled at him like she had.

"I'm sorry, Sandor. I didn't mean to be rude…" Tears welling in her eyes again, Sansa gazed down at the small chest's content again, unable to meet the man's stare. "It's just that… that I won't be there for him and so it'd be really important for me if he had his… his father at least and so I was hoping so much that you would agree. I don't want him to be an orphan… I know you can't care for a baby or young child but once he'll be old enough, it would really mean so much to me if you… if you would…" Sansa trailed off, on the verge of weeping all over again.

"Alright. Alright, little bird. Come over here now," the Hound bid her, his voice calm and patient again though a bit weary. Settling his war axe to the ground by the side of his chair, he gestured for Sansa to come to him.

Sniffing, she stood up from where she was still kneeled over the floor and walked to him. When she got in front of him, he pulled her over his lap and wrapped his arm around her. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck and shut her eyes.

After a moment, Sandor spoke, his tone as nonchalant as if he were sharing some trivial information with her. "I'll take him for squire, little bird, since it's so important to you. So long as it's a boy and that he can hold a sword in his hands, I'll do it. And if my buggering _sworn bothers_ of the Kingsguard aren't satisfied with him, well, I'll tell them they can go fuck themselves."

Sansa's eyes grew wide at that and she jerked her head back to look at him. "You swear it?" she demanded, a small, disbelieving smile curving her lips.

"Yes."

"Say it," she insisted.

Sighing exasperatedly, the man took a deep breath and complied. "I swear it."

"Thank you, Sandor!" Sansa exclaimed with fresh tears in her eyes. "Thank you so much!"

With that, she kissed his burnt cheek and hugged him with all of her strength. The Hound tensed a bit but he stroked her back and hair all the same.

They stayed like that for a few seconds but then Sandor sighed again. "Now, let's just hope the babe doesn't look too much like you," he muttered against the crown of her head as an afterthought. "If he has your hair… gods, now that won't be good."

* * *

About a moon later, Sansa was alone in the little house. She had just woken up from her afternoon nap and the Hound had not come back from his outing yet. With her hands under her shift, she was applying some of Githa's sheep milk salve over her breasts. They had become so big lately, she could scarcely believe it. Sandor had sworn many times he thought they looked really nice and he kept repeating she was beautiful whenever she complained of how huge she was getting. She knew he meant it. It was not like him to lie and moreover, she had no reason of doubting his desire for her. He still wanted her just as much heavy with his child as he had when her waist had been thin enough that he could circle it completely with his two hands and proved it to her often.

It was paradoxical, for while Sansa felt bulky and clumsy, the Hound treated her like she was the most fragile creature in the world and was always extremely careful and gentle with her, especially in bed. It was as if he feared he might hurt her or the baby if he took her even a fraction as fiercely as he used to. Speaking soft words in her ears, he would kiss her and ghost his large, calloused hands all over her body with maddening softness and for as long as it lasted, Sansa was ready to believe she was just as beautiful and desirable as she had been before her belly had swollen. Yet later on as she would move about the house or attempt to squeeze herself in one of her gowns, the illusion would be no more. She did try to stay positive most of the time but Sansa still definitely had her moments of discouragement. It was quite distressing to see her body change so much so fast and have absolutely no control over it.

Even with all of their laces completely loosened, Sansa could now barely fit in most of her gowns and was truly comfortable in only one. At least, all of her shifts were very loose and there was thus no danger that she ever outgrew any of them. Yet the idea of having to spend her days in her undergarment for the remaining moons she would have to wait before she gave birth was highly depressing. Therefore, Ingrith had recently bought some warm fabric from the village for her and they had both started making her three new much larger dresses. They had only finished one so far. It was spread over the back of a chair and Sansa picked it up and pulled it over her head, sighing as she gazed down at herself afterwards. For someone who was used to wearing only pretty clothes made from the finest fabrics and adorned with lace and intricate embroidery, this was not a very exciting dress. It was a dull grey, very simple and humble-looking but most of all, very large. The cut was not flattering at all, still at least it would fit around her belly until the baby's growth was over and it was warm enough for her to go outside, unlike her shifts.

_Grey is one of my House's colours,_ Sansa reminded herself as she inspected herself in her silver hand mirror. Perhaps if she embroidered some flowers around the dress' neckline and the hems of its sleeves it would make it slightly more palatable. It was not like she lacked the time for it anyhow.

With no great enthusiasm, Sansa sat by the table and started brushing her hair. She fixed it in a half braid with a jewelled brooch and put on the sapphire necklace Sandor had given her during their stay at Maidenpool. At least she would look nice from the neck up, for what it was worth.

The sky had cleared up since morning; Sansa could tell by the strong sunbeams which passed through the small hide windows. It had been quite cloudy still when she had gone to bed after lunch. _I cannot stay inside._ _It's so rare that it's so beautiful in this season,_ Sansa decided. With that, she stood from her seat and found her boots and mittens. Once she had slid them on, she donned her fur cloak, raised its cowl over her head and went outside.

While the air was cold, the sun was warm on Sansa's face and thus for as long as she'd stay out of the shade, the day was perfect for a long stroll. Smiling to herself, she started walking toward the stables, hoping to find Sandor there.

As she stepped inside, Sansa heard some noises coming from the farthest stalls. After the bright light of the sun, it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the place. When they had, she saw it was only Borin and Rowan shovelling manure in a wheelbarrow. Ingrith's large grey dog, Sooty he was called, was with them and he came running to Sansa as soon as she entered, wagging his tail joyfully. She bent over to pet him and scratch his ears.

"Good boy, Sooty! What a good boy you are," Sansa told him happily. She had grown quite fond of him throughout the last two moons and a half she had spent at the farm. He was always at her feet as she knitted with Ingrith, eager to be petted. "Good afternoon, Borin. Good afternoon, Rowan," she told the boys with a grin once she was done greeting Sooty, straightening her back. "Have you seen the lord by any chance?" Although he was no lord, everyone referred to the Hound as such at the farm given that he had no title and that calling him dog, Clegane, Sandor, Hound, or even worse, ser, was totally out of the question for their hosts.

"Hello, m… m'lady!" Borin replied, staggering as usual. He was the oldest and chattier of Ingrith's two sons. Both were very polite and always willing to help. They reminded Sansa of Hodor in some ways, though their vocabulary was undeniably more elaborate. Still they were very shy and acted much like young children instead of the grown men they were, much like he had. "He was here earlier b… but he went away, m'lady. Don't know w…where," Borin informed her. He and his brother were equally wary of Sandor and even speaking of him seemed to make them nervous. Sansa couldn't blame them. She had once been just as anxious with him and knew first hand just how intimidating he could be.

"Alright, thank you."

Before she left, Sansa swept her gaze over the stables. She noted both Stranger and her mare where in their stalls and with that, she gathered the Hound had either gone to the forest to chop some wood or set a few snares. Apart from that, there really wasn't much he could be doing.

As she opened the door to exit, Sooty came running out of the stables. "Oh! Sooty has escaped!" Sansa exclaimed, glancing in Borin and Rowan's direction. "I think he needs some fresh air. Would you mind if I brought him with me to the weirwood tree?"

"No, m'lady. G.. go with him!" Borin answered.

Sansa smiled and thanked him before shutting the door behind her. "Come, Sooty! Let's go!" she cried out, tapping at her thigh.

The dog was already some distances away by the side of the stables but at hearing her call him, he jumped and hurried toward her.

"Let's go to the weirwood, Sooty," Sansa prompted.

She started progressing over the trail of compacted snow that led to it and the dog swiftly rejoined her. He knew the way very well and soon took the lead and walked a few steps before her, halting every now and then to sniff or make water against trees.

When they got to the weirwood, Sansa sat down not far from it in the sunlight. As she had already come here with Sandor this morning, she didn't feel the urge to pray to the old gods. All she wanted was to enjoy the peacefulness of the woods and the warmth of the sun. Gazing at the pure blue sky above, she let herself fall back into the snow. Sooty joined her almost just as soon, lying down by her side and blowing hot breath onto her face.

"Eww, Sooty!" Sansa cried, wrinkling her nose and turning her head away from him. Still, she petted him to make sure he stayed and he snuggled himself against her.

The forest was so quiet. There was not an ounce of wind and the only sounds to be heard were those of small birds chirping and flying from branches to branches. The snow shone bright and white under the sunlight and Sansa smiled to herself, shutting her eyes only for a short moment.

"Sansa? You alright?" the Hound's hoarse voice suddenly startled her.

Had she dozed off? It seemed like it, for she was a bit confused when she opened her eyes again. "Yes," Sansa replied, shaking herself and sitting up. Twisting onto herself, she gazed toward the forest to see Sandor approaching her with long, quick strides. He had two dead hares tied to his sword belt and while she could tell he was more worried than angry, it was obvious by the scowl his face was set in that he was not pleased either.

"What are you doing here _alone_?" he asked her sternly once he was just a few steps from her.

"I'm not alone. I'm with Sooty," Sansa pointed out. The dog was still nestled into the snow by her side, gazing up at Sandor and wagging his tail.

"That's not enough, Sansa. What if wolves had found you, lying in the snow like that? What a beautiful and easy prey you'd make," he commented dryly, his mouth twitching. "You shouldn't go out this far without me. You couldn't defend yourself if you were attacked – and even less now that you're with child," he chided her, his tone very serious and eyes reproachful.

"But Sooty would have protected me! And he would have barked and called for help if wolves had found me." Sansa asserted.

"Perhaps but I'm not sure he'd have lasted very long against a pack of wolves. Now you listen to me, little bird. I don't want you to take risks like these anymore. Sooty's Ingrith's dog and you, you've your own dog in me. Understood? From now on, you'll only go out with your own dog" the Hound rasped with finality. Bending over, he gathered Sansa in his arms and lifted her from the snowy ground. "Let's go back now. I'm sure you must be getting cold."

A little disheartened, Sansa nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck. _Is it truly how he sees himself? My dog? _she wondered with doubt. She had a hard time picturing him as thus. She had always been more under the impression that _she_ was his and not the opposite.

As they approached the farm with Sooty in tow, Sandor relaxed and slowed his pace. "You made quite a striking image in the snow, little bird," he murmured, not a trace of his previous irritation left in his voice. "Made my mouth water to be completely honest with you. The wolves may not have found you but I think this hound will be devouring you whole once we get inside." With that, he started nuzzling at her neck.

Sansa stiffened. She was in no mood for what he had in mind. "Not now, Sandor," she complained, stirring in his arms. "I've only just got dressed and fixed my hair. And besides, Ingrith has promised she would show me a new knitting technique this afternoon. I should probably rejoin her right away in fact."

Grunting, Sandor removed his face from her neck. "Alright then, I'll bring you to her house," he said gruffly.

While he didn't bother to mask his discontentment, the fact that he didn't insist further was satisfying enough to Sansa. He had not imposed his desire on her even once since they had arrived at the farm and she was grateful for that change in their rapport.

_He may not be my dog but he's still learning to listen_, she reflected as they headed toward Ingrith's house. It was a start, at least.


	14. Chapter 14

_Hi everyone! Sorry for the super long wait. I'd like to thank everyone who still follows this story as well as Leigh of Oldstone for being such a great beta! :D_

_Oh, and by the way! Unless I suddenly change my mind, last chapter will be the last one! :O_

* * *

Raising his arms high above his head, Sandor swung his war axe heavily down onto the log he had before him. It broke into two pieces, each falling on the snowy ground by the side of the large wooden chopping block. Bending down, the man picked them up and added them to the stack of firewood he kept by the little house he and Sansa had lived in for the last four moons. Once that was done, he grabbed another log from the pile he had just brought from the forest and installed it over his wooden block to repeat the whole process.

The day was cold but Sandor was sweating under his cloak with his effort and so he kept it as opened as he could with the hood down and had removed his scarf some time ago. He still had his gloves on though, for his axe's handle was freezing and the tips of his fingers were cold.

When he had just about finished his work, he heard noises coming from the road. Sandor couldn't see what it was from his place behind the house and thus he cautiously walked to its corner to have a look, his axe still in hand.

"Hello, G… Githa," he heard one of Ingrith's sons say.

Both boys had come out of their house to greet the witch, who had just arrived astride her aging horse. At the sight, Sandor relaxed and took a step forward, not bothering to stay hidden anymore.

Githa usually came to the farm every other week to check on the little bird and make sure all was going well with her and the babe. Yet it had now been longer than that since they had last seen her – almost a moon now - for the woman had gone to White Harbour to visit her daughter. Before she left, she had examined Sansa and told them she was as healthy as any expecting woman could hope to be and thus Sandor was not worried in the least. There was no doubting the child was alive, seeing how fast he was growing. The little bird's stomach was bulging pretty impressively already and still getting bigger every week.

Every now and then, she would complain about it to Sandor and he had to assure her she was just as beautiful as she had always been. He had probably repeated it to her more than a hundred times over the last few moons but it was certainly no lie. As far as he was concerned, Sandor didn't mind the way her body was changing in the least - to the contrary even. He got a thrill out of seeing her like that: heavy with _his_ child. Of course, bedding her had gotten a bit less straightforward than it used to be given that he couldn't just pull her under him and take her without thinking more of it anymore. He didn't want to hurt her or the child but also, her belly now always got in the way. Still, that was no major hindrance and Sandor was nothing if not tenacious.

When she got at about three yards from Ingrith's sons, Githa jumped down from her saddle and smiled at the two halfwits. "Hello to you, Borin and Rowan. How has everything been here?" she asked, readjusting her forest-green cloak over her shoulders.

"All's fine. Need h… help with your horse?" one of the halfwits queried.

"Yes, thank you," she told him, handing him her reins.

Following them with his eyes as they all progressed towards the stables, Sandor set down his war axe against the little house's wall before slowly walking their way. The woman was a few steps behind and she halted to peer in his direction once she got by the stable's entrance, the corners of her lips curving up stiffly.

"Good afternoon, m'lord. I've some wine for you," she informed him, her voice dry.

"Good. I'll go and fetch it myself," Sandor answered, strolling toward her.

Nodding, Githa turned around and they both entered the stables. Ingrith's two sons had already removed the horse's saddle, Sandor saw as he approached the stall the beast had been led in. One of them was brushing him while the other was pouring fresh water in the stall's trough. They were quickly done and scurried away even just as Sandor and Githa arrived by the horse. The wineskins she had brought had been stored in a roughspun sack and the man untied it from the saddlebag and picked it up. He gave Githa a silver stag, which she accepted with a curt nod.

"So? How's the lady?" she asked as she put it in her pouch.

"She's fine. You want to see her I imagine?" Both of them exited the stall and halted just outside of it.

"Of course. That's why I'm here," the woman replied, shutting the stall's door behind her.

"She was going to bed to take a nap the last I've seen her. I'll check on her in a moment if you want," Sandor proposed flatly.

"Alright but don't wake her if she still sleeps. It's still early and I'm in no hurry to get back home. I'll chat with Ingrith in the meantime."

"Good," Sandor rasped. A small smirk unwittingly pulling at his lips, he readjusted the arm he had around his roughspun sack. "It's been a while since you've last been here. The girl's belly has gotten bigger, you'll see. Quite a lot in fact."

"I'm not surprised. It's going to be a big babe, this one. It's easy to tell already," the woman advanced, her mouth pulling in a thin line. "It won't be an easy delivery. I hope you realise that. The poor girl's not out of danger yet."

His smirk morphing into a scowl, Sandor narrowed his eyes at her and grunted. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, m'lord. Don't pretend like you don't know it," Githa scoffed exasperatedly. "Childbirth is a hard and dangerous process for any woman, let alone one as young as the lady."

Sandor exhaled loudly through his nose and averted his eyes from her, hoping she would get his meaning and leave it there but the damned woman continued speaking anyway.

"Lucky for us, she's got good hips for a girl her age," she said. "Still, I'd have felt far more confident had she been a few years older. Now all we can do is keep our fingers crossed the child's growth soon slows down and that her labour runs smoothly. I'll pray for her and I'd do the same if I were you."

Clenching his jaw, Sandor laid his steely stare back on the woman. "I'd rather you don't lose your time praying and do your bloody best when the time comes instead," he snapped at her.

"I always do my best, m'lord, no matter that the woman I care for is a high lady or an unwed farmer's daughter with no more than rags for clothes," Githa retorted testily. "Yet sometime my best's not enough. I need be realistic. I told the lady about it before she took moon tea, that keeping your child was not a good idea given her age and your size. Now that the abortion has failed and that she's no other option but to bear it after all, it wouldn't be very tactful of me to remind it to her, I'm sure you'll agree. And so I'll not share my worries with her anymore. It wouldn't do her any good to be frightened for her life when her time comes. With you though, I don't see any reason I'd lie. You might as well know what to expect and prepare yourself for the worst."

Tilting his head to the side, Sandor took a good, long look at the woman, his eyes burning with wrath. "You're an experienced wise woman, aren't you? You'll make it work," he stated through gritted teeth.

Wincing at his tone, Githa gazed up at him, her concern showing in her eyes for a split second. "I've no greater wish," she started with obvious frustration. "Yet, there are so many things that can go wrong during childbirth and over which a wise woman has no control. I can't perform miracles, m'lord! Only the gods can."

"They'll be no need for miracles,_ you_ _hear me?_ I don't want you to _ever_ say otherwise again." Though he had spoken quietly, Sandor's voice was sharp and his stance menacing.

"I do sincerely hope you're right but if you aren't, what will you do then? Threaten to kill us all like you did after the lady took moon tea?" she murmured grimly.

"I'll not just threaten you, believe that," Sandor hissed.

Growing visibly tenser, the woman took a step back and closed her cloak more tightly around herself. Sandor could tell he made her nervous, though she hid it well and still managed to keep that proud bearing of hers. "I don't see how killing us all would change anything if the worst was to happen," she began, glowering at him. "Your threats may give you an illusion that you have control over the situation but in the end, you know just as well as I do how futile they are. You could very well murder the whole damned North in a fit of rage and still, it would not bring back the one person who matters to you if she came to die." She paused for a brief instant then, before resuming, her voice but a whisper. "Because as surprising at it is, I can tell the lady means more to you than keeping your head on your shoulders," she asserted wryly. "A pity it didn't compel you to treat her better when it was still time."

Sandor didn't add anything to that and only glared at her. He didn't like the direction this conversation had taken at all. Thankfully, the woman seemed to have had enough as well and shortly whirled around to pace toward the exit. Yet just as he was finally about to allow himself to relax, Githa halted and turned around to face him again.

"Oh, I was forgetting," she spat. From her tone, it was obvious she was just as loath as him to resume their dialogue. "As I told you I would the last time I saw you, I've just spent a fortnight at White Harbour at my daughter's house. I think you ought to know I've heard some rumours about you and the lady while I was there."

Though he was still furious and had been relieved to be rid of the woman, Sandor's stare instantly darted to her, his attention utterly grasped. "Go on," he prompted.

Githa smiled but her smile was not one of happiness. It was an ugly smile, one that augured nothing good. "People are starting to wonder whatever happened to the King in the North's younger sister. It's been nearly seven moons now since she left King's Landing after all."

"Humph. And what of it?" Sandor demanded, trying to sound indifferent. Rumours were only that: rumours. Of course people were going to wonder what had happened to Sansa after all that time but there were many reasons why she and her escort could have been delayed. He didn't have to worry. Or so he hoped.

"Well, I went to an inn to eat a meal with an old friend while I was there and heard some patrons chat about the lady's disappearance. They came up with a few interesting theories. I think it goes without saying that they all involved you."

Sandor's mouth twitched at that and he gestured for Githa to continue.

"It seems to be common knowledge that you were last sighted at Maidenpool, waiting for a ship. On that, no one differed. Yet, what happened afterwards is subject to much speculation. All agree on one thing though: the Hound made off with his young maidenly charge. They say you were driven mad by her beauty and kindness and decided to keep her for yourself."

"Fuck…" Sandor let out, the pace of his pulse accelerating.

The woman's expression was stern and her eyes cold but he glimpsed a spark of satisfaction pass through them. "From the exchanges I've heard while I was at that inn, it seems like most believe you brought the lady to Essos and forced her to marry you. Some people disagree though and I have to say one of the patrons' version of events amused me very much when I heard it," Githa uttered unhurriedly.

"And what was it?" Sandor demanded impatiently when she didn't continue. He could tell she took pleasure in witnessing his usual stony composure crack and was all too happy to make him beg for her tale.

"Well the man in question thought it more likely that you had stayed in the Riverlands and dragged the lady in the depth of the woods to keep her prisoner in some small cabin. That one was convinced she must be heavy with child by now with no way of escaping from you." At that, Githa's lips curved in a small, sardonic smile and she gazed at Sandor with piercing eyes. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it? The only difference I see from the truth is the location. Oh, and also… the fact that you still intend on bringing her back to her family." She paused then, her smile fading away. "Because you still do, don't you?"

His scowl deepening, Sandor narrowed his eyes at the woman. He wasn't sure what he should answer. It had been a while already since he had resolved he wouldn't bring the girl back to Winterfell. However, he knew better than to admit it to Githa.

"Anyone from the village suspects we're here?" he inquired after a moment, his tone nonchalant in spite of how fast his heart was beating.

"Not as far as I know. I did tell my nearest neighbours Ingrith had a guest, but I had no choice but to find an excuse to why I go so often to her farm."

"A guest?" Sandor repeated, speaking the words like a curse.

"Sleep tight, m'lord. It's nothing special to them. Ingrith has had guests before," Githa told him dismissively.

"What do you mean?"

"Some of the women and girls I help come from prosperous merchant families and even WhiteHarbour's small nobility sometimes. They seek me out when they need moon tea and want to avoid the whole town hearing about it, as they'd risk if they went to one of the local wise women," Githa explained, folding her arms over her chest. "In the past, a few girls expecting out of wedlock have been brought to me by a parent or guardian in search of a place to hide the misbehaving young lady away for a few moons and I've always sent them to Ingrith's farm. As you've found out for yourself, it's the perfect place for such a purpose seeing how it's isolated and has a second house. Also, Ingrith doesn't have that many friends in the village and so she never receives visitors apart from me – which is perfect if one is looking for anonymity, though certainly sad for Ingrith. Been like that ever since she had her sons. People are superstitious around here, you know. They don't want her bad luck to rub off on them. They fear they might end up with simpletons for sons as well if they spend too much time with her." By the derisive tone of her voice, it was clear what she thought of that.

"Humph," Sandor grunted. Ingrith's situation was sad indeed, yet he couldn't have cared less at the moment. "Heard anything about the lady's family? Do you know if they'll do anything about her disappearance?"

"I've no clue. There was no one gossiping about the Starks while I was in town as far as I know. But you can be sure that if these rumours I told you about are so widespread at White Harbour, they'll have reached Lord Manderly's ears as well. Don't know about you, but as for myself if I were him, I'd have sent a raven to Winterfell from the moment I'd first heard them."

Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, Sandor shifted in his position and inhaled deeply. For as much as he'd have wished it otherwise, he knew the woman was right. Either the Starks had heard about the rumours or they would very soon. If they had not been worried about Sansa's tardiness before, they would without a bloody doubt after the raven's arrival. They would want to find out for themselves just how true the stories were.

"Well, I'll leave you to digest all I told you in peace now," Githa said after a few seconds of silence. "I'll be with Ingrith. Don't forget to tell me when the lady wakes up." With that, she put her back to him and stepped outside.

Once the woman had shut the door behind herself, Sandor leaned his back against the nearest wall and threw his head back. Readjusting his hold on the wineskin sack, he growled and closed his eyes._ Gods, I need a drink of wine and badly at that_, he mused. Still, he didn't move to grab one of the skins in his arms. He was far too distraught for that. _What the fuck am I supposed to do now?_

Sandor had always known there would be rumours about he and Sansa. It had been written in the bloody sky with them being gone for so long when their journey north should logically have taken them no more than two or three moons. Yet to hear the actual stories that ran the streets of White Harbour at this very moment and see how close to the truth they were was quite a violent reality check for Sandor. He had been living in a buggering bubble for far too long and it was about time he shook himself out of it. He had been stupid, so very stupid not to see this coming…

Even when they had still been at Maidenpool, chances were more than high that people had already started gossiping about him and the girl. In all likeness, the rumours had even spread from there. Sandor knew he had not been very good at hiding his possessiveness – not good at all in fact – yet it had been stronger than him. He'd watched over Sansa as jealously as a rabid dog over his last bone and not let anyone approach her whenever he could help it. Gods, he'd even lost it over a puny little stable boy once after he'd found him alone in the stables with her. With hindsight, Sandor regretted having overreacted so. There was no way in all of Westeros Sansa would have escaped her room to meet-up with the boy and give him access to her pretty body - it was simply not like her at all. Still at the time, he had been far too incensed that she had left without his consent to see straight and his anger had given him all sorts of ideas. He'd reacted the same as any jealous lover would after catching his woman with another man. If the boy was even slightly perspicacious, he'd have guessed Sandor had been concerned about more than just the little bird's safety and then most likely have shared his impression around town.

To add to that while he and Sansa had stayed at Maidenpool for a whole moon, the number of times Sandor had gone out in town or even to his own inn's common room to drink the night away could be counted on the fingers of a single hand. And he'd never visited a brothel - _not even once_. For a man of his sort, that was certainly suspicious behaviour.

Yet worst of all, he had become a regular at the most upscale shops in town, purchasing fancy candies wrapped up in silk paper and expensive jewellery, both of which had obviously not been meant for him. Sandor snorted in annoyance at himself at the thought. How reckless he had been to do so! What sort of guard bought such presents to his charge? _One that fucks her, _he concluded, an ugly sneer stretching his lips. He couldn't be the only one to have surmised as much. _You've been a bloody fool, dog. If it hadn't been for your buggering territorial attitude and thirst to mark the girl as yours by covering her with jewellery purchased with your own gold, the rumours might not have been so accurate. _It wasn't like him to act so mindlessly, however the little bird had that effect on him. He'd done nothing but take risks where she was concerned ever since they had left the Red Keep together. In that too, the rumours were right. He'd been driven senseless by his bloody charge indeed.

_Seven buggering hells. You stupid dog, you've dug your own grave,_ Sandor berated himself. His irritation over himself suddenly too much to bear, he stormed out of the stables and headed to the little house. By the damned Stranger, how thirsty he was. The sooner he would fill his belly with wine, the better it would be. First though, he needed to drop off his sack inside and see if Sansa was awake. If she was, he would inform Githa about it, go fetch his axe and scarf where he had left them outside and then finally, he would open himself a wineskin and drink it all in only a few gulps. Now that would do him some good, he needed his wine so fucking much right now.

The little bird was sitting on their bed when Sandor entered the house. She had a hand under her shift and was applying some salve over her stomach with it.

"Oh! Sandor! I'm so glad you came back! The baby is moving!" she exclaimed just as soon, beaming at him. "He kept kicking me as I slept and I ended up awaking because of him. Come! I want you to feel it."

"Give me a moment, Sansa," Sandor rasped, wincing at the dryness of his reply.

Putting his back to her, he settled his sack over the table and shut his eyes for a short instant, taking in a deep breath. He needed to rid himself of his tension or else, the little bird would guess something was amiss. He didn't want that. It was best she ignored there were rumours about them for now. _I'll need to tell Githa not to say a word about them in her presence, _Sandor reflected. Removing his gloves and tucking them under his belt, he turned around and started to walk toward Sansa. He tried to smile at her but knew it must look forced and stiff. She didn't seem to notice though. He could tell she was impatient for him to join her and her excitement was quite fetching to be honest, so much so that by the time he knelt by the side of the bed, Sandor's smile had become genuine.

"I don't like that he wakes you, little bird. Too bad we can't scold him where he's at," he murmured, raising his hand to Sansa's stomach.

Seizing it with both of hers, she brought it under her skirt to guide it where the movement was. "I wouldn't want you to do it even if you could. I love it when he moves. Now touch," she bade him happily.

Her skin was sticky with the salve but Sandor laid his palm over her belly all the same.

"Feel it?" the girl asked just as the babe kicked right into his palm.

That made him chuckle. "Yes. Just did. Does it hurt you?"

"No, not really. I don't mind it at all. As long as he doesn't do it in the middle of the night," she replied with laughter in her voice.

"He kicked again," Sandor rasped. "Gods. We'll need to raise him well once he's out of there because for now, he doesn't behave at all…"

Meeting his stare at once, Sansa looked at him with a confused air about her.

He had forgotten himself, Sandor realised. "Well I mean, Ingrith will have quite a job ahead of her I think," he corrected, averting his eyes from her.

"Yes," the little bird agreed, a bit melancholy.

Removing his hand from under her shift, Sandor stood up. "Githa's here to see you," he announced. "Want me to tell her you're ready to receive her?"

"Oh, she's back now? Yes, of course, tell her to come," she breathed quietly, her gaze lowered.

With that, Sandor nodded and went outside. He strode to Ingrith's house at once, told Githa the little bird wasn't sleeping anymore and warned both women never to mention the rumours in her presence. Once that was done, he headed to where he had left his axe into the snow by the house. His scarf was still hung where he had left it over the firewood stack and he put it back on before sitting down over one of the smaller piles of logs. Sandor stayed there for a moment, gazing unseeingly into the forest, his thirst momentarily forgotten.

It was not the first time the little bird made him touch her belly while the babe moved but for some reason today, it had woken a strange and unpleasant ache in his chest. While he had been irritated and tense as he entered the house he shared with Sansa minutes ago, Sandor had exited it feeling just as glum and spent as if he'd only just suffered a burning defeat in the battlefield. As far as he was concerned, that was no amelioration at all. He'd much rather be filled with rage. He knew better how to deal with ire than despair - could make it useful. Yet in spite of his weariness, Sandor's mind was anything but at rest and kept turning and turning. _Hells, enough of that. I need wine now, _he mused after a few minutes of sitting outside. Sighing heavily, he brushed a hand over his face before wearily standing from his log and picking up his war axe.

Githa was inspecting Sansa's belly when he entered the little house and they both gazed up at him as he stepped through the doorway.

"He's moving alright," the woman told the little bird just as Sandor removed his cloak and hung it after its hook on the wall. "That's a strong babe, this one, I tell you. There's no doubting he's healthy."

"That's wonderful," Sansa replied, a smile on her lips.

Sandor rubbed off the worst of the snow that still stung after his boots and then sat on a chair by the hearth. As he did, Githa left the little bird's bedside to retrieve her cloak where she had left it over the back of the rocking chair. She set it over her shoulders and walked to the door.

"Goodbye, m'lady. I'll be back in a fortnight," she promised. Then losing her smile, she glanced slyly at Sandor and shut the door behind her.

_I can't trust her,_ the man thought to himself.

That talk he had had with Githa about the stories which were circulating at WhiteHarbour had really gotten to him. He wasn't sure what he should do about it. He felt as if he had just awaken from the most peaceful of sleeps to find out the whole forest had been aflame for hours. There was an urgency to the situation, one that required that he rethink his plan and act very soon.

As the little bird had started to grow big not long after the moon tea had failed, Sandor had finally admitted to himself he couldn't bring her back to her family. She was his woman,was carrying his child. He couldn't give her up, not after everything they'd gone through. Gods, he wasn't sure why he'd ever believed he could forego her at all, even long before she told him she was expecting. Sandor had been delusional to think he'd have the power to do it when the time would come and that, from the very first time he'd taken her. He had tried to be reasonable and convince himself he would fulfill his mission no matter what, yet had ended up being anything but that with his unwillingness to face the truth.

If he'd been smart, he'd have done exactly like the rumours said long before now. Steal her away and marry her. It wouldn't even have been hard. The_ Travelling Titan_'s next destination had been Braavos after all and they'd only have had to continue with it instead of disembarking at WhiteHarbour. If Sandor had not mentioned the possibility of moon tea to Sansa and with that, given her the option of ridding herself of his bastard, it would even have made perfect sense that they flee the continent. It would indeed have been easier for them to hide away unnoticed where no one knew them as she waited to give birth.

Yet Sandor had lacked foresight and persisted in believing he would eventually manage to give the girl up. And so they had gotten to this farm they were still at but once he had at last come to his senses and realised he simply couldn't do it, they had already been here for a few weeks and Sandor had thought it best that they stayed where the little bird was warm and safe and had a wise woman at hand besides. He didn't like the idea of her travelling in her state.

Therefore, he had pretended like there was no change to their plan and decided to do so until the babe was born. He was only being strategic. If he was patient enough, Sandor was persuaded he could have Sansa agree to follow him of her own free will to Essos and become his woman for good. He knew how much she had a hard time accepting she would have to abandon their child to Ingrith and had seen her cry many times for that reason. That had been a heartbreaking sight, even for a man as callous as him. She had even asked him to take him for squire when he'd be old enough. Well, there would be no need for that providing Sandor had his way.

The babe was Sansa's soft spot and if the man could only wait until his birth to reveal his intentions, he could definitely make it play in his favour. He'd been around women enough in the years he was Cersei's shield to know that once she'd have held him in her arms and seen his little wrinkled face, the deal would be sealed. The little bird was soft hearted: she'd want to keep him and when Sandor would present her with the possibility to do so – tell her that he would provide and care for them both - she'd not refuse and leave the Seven Kingdoms with him.

While most rumours put them across the Narrow Sea, fleeing to Essos was nevertheless pretty much their only viable option. Sandor had not forgotten his earlier concern that bounty hunters would be on their heels and trying to track them down. Yet by being very careful and travelling as far inland as they could from the moment they'd leave their ship, he now believed he and the little bird should be able to evade their pursuers. The eastern continent was huge: more than twice as large as Westeros. There must be a place among these endless lands where he and Sansa could live in peace, and Sandor would find it or die trying.

"You didn't prepare me my warm milk, Sandor. Why are you so distracted?" Sansa's sweet voice suddenly took the man out of his musing.

"I forgot, little bird. You're hungry?" he asked at once, his mouth twitching.

"Not really, I'm just surprised. You're usually so adamant that I have a cup right after my nap," she replied softly. She had just put on one of the dresses she and Ingrith had sewed together and was walking to the rocking chair, a blanket thrown over her shoulders. "You seem preoccupied. What are you thinking about?" she enquired as she sat down next to him.

"Nothing of importance," he lied. "I'll prepare you your milk now."

Standing from his chair, Sandor got to where they kept a jug of milk in a corner of the house and poured some of it in a small kettle. Then, he installed the kettle into the hearth, as far from the fire as possible. He only wanted to warm the milk and since he had burned some on a couple of occasions, he was now always very careful.

The girl was watching him. Sandor could tell she was curious about his demeanour. Although he had always been good at keeping his moods and thoughts hidden from others, the little bird had gotten surprisingly good at reading him throughout all those moons they had spent together. She could tell something was up.

"Here's your milk, Sansa," Sandor told her once it was warm enough, handing her a cup.

She took it and after she had sipped at it lightly, she rested the cup over her rounded belly just before her breasts. As she did, the man regained his seat by her side. He was promptly lost in his thoughts again and with his absent-mindedness, he only grew aware of how Sansa was gazing at him with her brow furrowed with concern after a couple of minutes.

"You don't give me my nuts and dried fruits now?" she breathed lowly as he met her eyes. From the tone of her voice, it was obvious she didn't know what to make of his lapses.

"Oh, right," Sandor grumbled, briskly standing from his chair.

Although he was irked at himself for being so heedless, his mind was quick to return on the subject that preoccupied him. It was stronger than him. And thus as he filled a bowl with nuts, dried fruits and some cheese, he continued considering his options.

He and Sansa could still do as had been his intention so far and stay at the farm until the babe was born and both mother and child were strong enough. Then, they would head to WhiteHarbour and board a ship to Essos from there. That had seemed like the best of plans until only a couple of hours ago. However with what Githa had told him, Sandor wasn't sure sticking around was such a good idea anymore. Time was not on his side and the more he postponed their departure, the more he risked that they had to flee on a whim very near the girl's due date. If that was to happen and that she was to start labour on the ship… well Sandor didn't even want to begin contemplating how _that_ would go. At least if they were to leave now, the little bird still had more than two moons ahead of her before it was supposed to happen and they should have reached shore by then.

And besides, while Sandor had no clue of how the Starks would react to hearing the rumours about Sansa and him, he was not in the least interested in finding out. One thing certain was that they wouldn't do nothing about it. His guess was that they would send a few trusted men to Maidenpool so that they attempted to retrace his and the little bird's steps from there. If these men managed to do so and catch them before they fled the continent, the best fate he could hope for was to be sent to the Wall and forced to take the black. Yet realistically, he'd be brought to Winterfell and executed. He'd lose his ugly head, severed from his body under the sword of the little bird's own bloody brother.

However, even that would be a buggering mercy. If Sandor had a daughter like Sansa and that a man like him had done even the quarter of what he had to her, he'd probably cut off his cock himself before sending him to the Wall to lead a pitiful existence, chasing ghosts at the far end of the civilised world, half the man he used to be. Now that would be an appropriate punishment and one far worse than death itself. Sandor almost snorted a snigger at the thought, though not from mirth. He had best not let it come to that.

His only comfort was that for the time being, no one was aware of their exact location. Or so Githa pretended. Sandor was far from certain he could trust her not to speak. The woman hated him. Of course, he'd given her every reason to - that was true enough - nevertheless it was a damned given that even had he tried his hardest, he'd never have managed to win so much as an ounce of sympathy from her. Her opinion of him had been set from the moment she'd learned about the little bird's condition.

Ingrith, he trusted more but even then he wasn't so sure. The fact that he'd be at the two women's mercy for as long as he stayed at the farm was undeniable and the notion was none too pleasing. It'd be all too easy for them to keep him in the dark and not tell him if Stark retainers were seen scouting the area. Githa and Ingrith were northerners first and foremost after all and they might see it as their duty to their king to betray him to them. Sandor may pay them every week for their silence and help, but this was no guarantee they wouldn't turn on him - not even one bloody bit. By denouncing him, they would even take advantage of the situation to its fullest and both gain the honour of having helped bring back home their king's sister and keep the gold the Hound had given them. Now, that would be an attractive prospect to anyone, let alone poor commoners living in some puny little village in the North's backcountry.

_Fuck, we've really no choice, _Sandor concluded. Nodding to himself, he brought the little bird her bowl of dried fruits and nuts. They would leave this place and the sooner they could do it, the better it would be.

* * *

Sansa ate her meal in silence, watching the Hound. He was acting strange, had been ever since she had awoken from her nap. She wasn't sure what to make of his attitude. It was not like him to be so distracted and avoid her gaze so much. Whenever she had spoken to him this evening, she had hardly managed to grasp his attention for more than a few seconds and wasn't even sure he truly listened to what she said.

Once they were done eating and that Ingrith had come back to fetch their bowls, cauldron and spoons, Sandor went out again, telling her he needed to check on the horses. It seemed unnecessary seeing how he had already disappeared to the stables earlier for at least an hour, not long after Githa had left. Still, Sansa let him go without uttering a word, for there was no valuable reason she object.

While he was away, she continued working on the swaddling blanket she had started knitting yesterday afternoon. It was very pretty: made from grey, white and yellow wool, all in thin stripes. Although Sansa knew she shouldn't, she couldn't stop herself from using both hers and Sandor's house colours for the baby's clothes. Yet, as neither Ingrith nor him had remarked about it so far, she had gathered it must not be too obvious. The Hound would certainly have reprimanded her for it had he noticed.

For a few hours now, the baby had stopped moving. He was always quiet in the evening. _Sleep well, my little baby,_ Sansa told him lovingly, caressing her belly. She could almost see him in her mind's eyes - curled onto himself inside her womb. He was big already, that was a given, and she was sure he had black hair like his father. It was her father's hair colour as well and the notion that he would have some of the Stark's look was very pleasing to her. For a very short time, Sansa had considered calling him Eddard, or even just Ned, but that would not have been very wise. Thankfully, she had figured it out on her own and never mentioned the idea to Sandor. He'd surely have mocked her if she had.

Whenever she broached the subject of their child's name to him, the Hound always told her he left the choice to her. She was flattered for the honour and yet sometimes, she wished he would get more involved in the matter. It seemed like such an important decision for her to take on her own, and so not to have his input only increased the burden of responsibility she felt.

At first, she had believed the baby would be a 'Snow' given that she was from the North and that he would be her bastard. Yet, when she had said as much to Sandor one evening when they were both sitting by the hearth, the man had corrected her.

"He'll be a Hill, little bird," he had rasped with that gravelly voice of his, the unburned corner of his mouth curling upward as he met her gaze. "I'm from the Westerlands and I'll be the only known parent, remember?"

And indeed he was right. Somehow, the notion had grieved her even more. It was one more broken link between her and her son.

_My son,_ Sansa reflected, laying a hand on her stomach. _If only… if only I could keep him… _

For the first few weeks she had become aware she was expecting, the very concept that she was carrying in her own flesh a child that was as much the Hound's as hers had been extremely disturbing to Sansa. She may have come to enjoy the feel of his arms around her and to welcome him in her bed at night, that didn't mean she was ready to be so irrevocably bounded to him. While it had taken her some time and that all the implications it brought were still extremely difficult to grasp, she had now gotten so used to the idea enough that she had accepted it completely. _Same as of for all the rest._

There was always good to be found in any situation and this one was unquestionably no exception. Seen from her child's perspective, having the Hound for father was certainly far from all bad. The man had many flaws but he had also a lot to be envied. If their son could grow to inherit all of his strengths as well as hers without any of their weaknesses, there was no knowing all the greatness he could achieve in life. He would be a bastard of course and that would not help him in any way but if talented, he could still accomplish so much in spite of it.

_A bastard… _The word was tainted with prejudice. People always judged those who were born out of wedlock and yet, it was never the child's fault. How cruel the world could be. Sansa had had a great deal of time to reflect on all of this lately and she bitterly regretted having ever turned her nose up at her half-brother, Jon. He had been her lord father's bastard from another woman before her mother and though she had loved him, she had not always treated him fairly. _My son will be a lot like him. He'll never get to know his mother and will only ever be his father's… _

Although Sansa agonised at the thought that she would have to abandon her child, the knowledge that Sandor was willing to take care of him as much as a man of his sort could comforted her very, very much. And she trusted he would keep his word to her. He would do as he had promised and see that their son learned the art of war and swordsmanship. That was a reassuring thought, for he would be the greatest teacher a boy could hope for. A stern one, but an honest and fair one.

And she knew he would genuinely come to care for their child – he'd be his own blood after all and the man was not as insensitive as he let it appear. Throughout the last seven moons or so they had spent together, Sansa had gotten to truly know him and learnt to see beyond the harsh image he gave off to the outside world. People believed the Hound to be naught but a coarse and brutish killer and while he could indeed do horrible things, he was also capable of patience and kindness. Sansa had experienced first hand both sides of him: the good and the bad. She knew just how complex he really was.

Sometimes she wondered if she would miss him once all of this would be over. Her conclusion was always that yes, she would. He had become such an important part of her life since they had left the Red Keep and while none of it had been her choice, there was no way she would ever forget about him and the child that had ensued from the union of their flesh. How would it be not to share his bed and life and eventually, to become another man's when time that she married came? The prospect was unexpectedly distressing and the realisation of it never failed to wake the dormant guilt that had been hers for many moons now.

Still if she stopped to ponder about it, her attachment to him made perfect sense. Sansa had been raised to believe that she would be faithful to only one man in her lord husband throughout her life. The fact that she would guard her maidenhead for him and bear only his children had always been unquestionable to her. Therefore, now that she had lost her innocence to the Hound and was heavy with his seed, it was only natural that she felt as if they belonged together and was reluctant to part from him. He had forced himself in the role of the husband she had been groomed to welcome and she had naturally accepted him as she was not equipped to react differently.

Her mind busied on all these matters and eyelids growingly heavy, Sansa quickly finished the swaddling blanket she had been working on without even realising it. She added it to all the other garments in the little chest Sandor had built and returned to her seat. While she was tired, she stayed there for a time, rocking herself as she waited for him to return.

It was strange that he had not come back yet. Although she knew it was ridiculous, Sansa was starting to worry for him and she might very well have headed to the stables to make sure nothing was amiss if it had not been for the cold she knew awaited her outside. Despite her concern, she soon fell asleep in her chair. Still, she must not have dozed for very long, for it seemed only moments later when the door opened like a gust of wind, startling her awake.

It was late, probably close to midnight, but Sandor's eyes were wide as he stepped through the doorway and he appeared oddly agitated in spite of the hour. Closing the door behind him, he swiftly swept his gaze over the room, as if he was looking for something.

"Where were you, Sandor? Why did you take so long?" Sansa asked him sleepily, stirring in her chair.

Not bothering to take off his cloak and gloves or rub off the snow from his boots as he usually did, the Hound walked to the shelves where most of their things were stored.

"_Sandor?_" Sansa called, slightly taken aback to be ignored as thus.

"I went to the stables, as I told you. I had things to prepare," he informed her, his back to her. "You should have gone to bed, little bird. Don't know why you're still awake. At least you'd have slept a little," he reproached sharply. Taking her saddlebag from where it was on the floor, he brought it over the table before returning to the shelves. From there, he started to throw his belongings into his own saddlebag.

"What… what are talking about, Sandor?"

"I've no time to explain it all to you but we need to go. _Now_."

"Go? But where? And _why_?" she murmured, too stunned to raise her voice.

"Don't argue, Sansa. Just put on your warmest dress, and perhaps another one over it and pack all your things. Hurry now."

"I… I don't understand, Sandor…"

"No need for you to understand. Now go on," he ordered, not even bothering to gaze her way as he spoke.

Alarm was swiftly building in Sansa and that, added to the frustration she felt at being given no explanation at all made her lose her usual calm. "I'd like nothing more than to do as you say, Sandor, but please, tell me what's happening first! I _need_ to know!" she insisted, her voice high-pitched.

Turning from the shelves at once, the Hound shot her one of his most burning glares. "Hush! Not so loud, Sansa! Be quiet and do as I say," he hissed commandingly.

It had been so long since he had spoken to her so harshly and his tone took her off guard. There was no way she didn't listen. Tears threatening to pearl in her eyes, Sansa scurried to the shelf her dresses where all neatly folded on. For a few heartbeats, she fumbled aimlessly through them but then finally shook herself and put on one of them over the one she wore. The Hound was by her side. Kneeling to the floor, he pushed the last of his clothes in his saddlebag with an amazing lack of care before starting closing its buckles

"Are we going to come back, Sandor? Can I leave a few things here?"

"No, bring everything. We're leaving this farm for good," he stated, standing to his full height.

"Oh but, Sandor! Why? I liked it here!" Sansa complained, gazing up at him pleadingly.

Wincing, Sandor shot her a brief, uneasy glance before quickly averting his gaze from her. "I'll find another place, better than this one for you to give birth. Don't fret," he promised flatly. With that, he gathered most of Sansa's dresses and shifts in his arms and strode to the table to set everything next to her saddlebag.

Her stare fixed on him, Sansa followed him with her eyes as he did, twisting in place to keep him in her sight as he moved about the room. "But where will it be, Sandor? Where are you bringing me now?" she breathed mostly to herself, feeling utterly lost.

To her surprise, the Hound answered this time around. "Essos," he muttered as he returned to her side by the shelves again.

"_To_ _Essos?_" Sansa let out disbelievingly, the words nearly a gasp. "But why so far, Sandor? Aren't there other places we could go?" Her eyes filling with tears, she clutched at him with a hand on the upper sleeve of his chain mail shirt and another at its front. The mail was greasy to the touch for he had oiled it recently but she didn't care in the least and hooked a few fingers in one of the holes the broken, rusty links had created over his chest for a better grip. "_Oh, please, _Sandor_!_ I beg you! Just let us stay here instead! I really don't want to take a ship again!" she cried in consternation.

"Shhh! Calm down, Sansa," the Hound rasped in a firm yet not unkind tone. Turning to face her completely, he lifted both his hands to her shoulders to rub them in that rough, soothing way he had. "It won't be so bad this time around. You had gotten used to the sea by the time we reached White Harbour, remember?"

"But what about the baby, Sandor? It won't be good for him that we resume travelling!" Sansa pointed out, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Something akin to guilt passed through Sandor's eyes at that. He hesitated very briefly but then, wiped off Sansa's tears with his thumb and spoke. "The baby will be fine. I swear it, little bird. If he survived the moon tea, he can survive travelling overseas," he told her mildly.

Paradoxically, the Hound's gentleness succeeded in breaking Sansa where his previous aloofness had not. A sob shaking her, she shut her eyes and started to cry for real. "But why do we need to go? Why now? It's so late… I don't understand! You're scaring me, Sandor! Please, tell me what's happening!" she supplicated him even as she whimpered, feeling at the end of her strength.

Her outburst apparently gave the Hound pause. "Alright," he said. "Alright, little bird. Stop crying now."

Swallowing hard, Sansa opened her eyes again and she was instantly struck by how preoccupied he looked.

"I've heard a few things from Githa when she came this afternoon," Sandor whispered gravely, speaking as lowly as if he feared he might be overheard. "And now, I'm afraid that if we stay here, we might end up being located by some of your brother's men before you've a chance to give birth."

Sansa's eyes grew wide at that and her pulse hastened. "What happened?" she asked in sudden panic.

With one of his hands, the Hound started caressing her cheek and hair. "Nothing so far, little bird, don't worry. I'm just being careful," he assured her, his hoarse voice as soft as it could be. There was an underlying tension in it though and the awareness did nothing to quell the girl's dread. "Still, it's best that we go and Essos is where we need to be. There, we'll be able to hide more effectively. We'll find you another wise woman and a foster family for the babe and resume our journey to Winterfell later on. I just don't want to risk your family seeing you like this: heavy with my child. You don't want this either, little bird, don't you?"

"No… no of course not..." Sansa agreed almost reluctantly, her voice as small as a child's. Though he was right and that being found by her family in her present condition was pretty much her worst nightmare, the prospect of heading away from Winterfell now that they had gotten so near was heart wrenching. She had been so glad to be back in her native North again.

"Then we need to leave. Tonight," the Hound asserted with finality.

Closing her fists tightly around the chain mail of his shirt, Sansa leaned more of her weight onto him. Her knees were weak under her and she feared she might lose balance any instant. "But couldn't we wait until tomorrow at least?" she begged him wearily. Sniffing, she craned her neck to look up at him. "It would be nice to sleep a little before we depart. Besides, I hate the idea of not saying goodbye to Ingrith and thanking her for everything she did for me. It would be very rude of us not to tell her we're going."

"No, Sansa, it's not possible. Now's the best time for us. I'll leave her a few gold dragons on the table. She won't have anything to complain about. Yet, it's best we're far from here by the time she realises we left. Understood?"

"Alright… alright then…" Sansa conceded feebly. Withdrawing the hold she had on his shirt, she wiped the tears which soaked her cheeks with her sleeve. She still wasn't sure she understood but she was too tired to keep arguing any longer. And anyhow when the Hound had his mind set on something, Sansa knew very well there was never any point in trying to dissuade him. He liked having his way, always.

"Now go on and pack you things. We need hurry now," he prompted her, gently pushing her toward the table.

Sansa did as he bade her and the Hound hastily brought her the remnant of her clothes and jewellery. She was finishing storing everything when the man settled the baby's chest on the table right next to her.

"Don't forget the babe's clothes," he reminded her. "Pack them in your saddlebag now."

"Couldn't we just bring the whole chest you made?" Sansa suggested, gazing up at him. He was busy rolling all of their blankets and furs tightly together by the bed's side.

"No, it's far too bulky. We've no space for that," he grunted, his stare glued to his task.

"Oh! But Sandor! You've spent so many hours building it!" she complained at once, her voice breaking pitifully.

"I'll get you another much nicer one, you'll see," the Hound promised, tying a long rope around the bundle of blankets and furs. "It's not like this one's very impressive to begin with anyway."

Her bottom lips quavering, Sansa opened the chest's lid. Inside, the little clothes were all piled up tidily and the sight of them increased her anguish even more. Soon, she could almost see nothing through the fresh tears that welled in her eyes. A sob escaping her lips, she clumsily started pushing the baby's garbs in her saddlebag.

"I… I don't have enough space," she announced desperately after a moment. The whole situation was making her so very anxious that even the smallest obstacle was like a mountain for her.

"I do. Give me what you can't fit in," Sandor urged, walking to her.

Sansa handed him the last of the clothes and he returned to his saddlebag. Once everything was packed and all the bag's straps closed, the man left a few coins on the table for Ingrith as he had said he would

"Put on your cloak, mittens and scarf now. It's cold outside," Sandor informed her, taking down her cloak from its hook on the wall and installing it over her shoulders.

With trembling fingers, Sansa fastened the silver brooch that kept it closed and fetched her mittens and scarf where they were on one the now empty selves. She had already worn her boots since the house's floor was cold and so she was quickly ready to go, though not mentally. She barely understood what was going on, was so tired and totally distraught at the thought of having to leave so abruptly… She had enjoyed the few peaceful moons she and Sandor had spent here and had felt more at home than she had since Winterfell, no matter how spartan the place had seemed to her at first. Looking around herself, Sansa took a deep, shivering breath, her heart aching and in her throat at once. _I need stop crying or else, my tears will freeze and burn my skin, _she reasoned, struggling to keep her emotions in check. Finding a handkerchief in the inside pocket of her cloak, she dried her face and blew her nose.

"Here, little bird. Take this," Sandor murmured, holding out the bundle he had made with the blankets and furs to her. "It's big but it's not heavy."

Once she had closed her arms around it, the Hound took both his and Sansa's saddlebags under his arms. "Come now," he whispered. "Don't make any noise or speak. I don't want to alert Ingrith and her sons."

Sansa nodded faintly and the man shouldered the door open. As soon as he did, a cold wind blew into the house and she shivered as it froze her to the bone. In spite of it, she followed Sandor outside and they both headed to the stables in silence. All around them, the forest was filled with sinister noises. The howling of the wind - low an instant and high-pitched the next – was overwhelming in its intensity. As its strength varied, the dry branches of the canopy high above sporadically hit one another. To Sansa, it sounded exactly as she imagined an old skeleton would if it was to suddenly fall to pieces.

Before her, she could barely discern anything but the tall shape of the Hound, outlined against the overcast nightly sky. She walked a few yards behind him, the cold-hardened snow crushing softly under her boots with each of her steps.

Sansa entered the stables in a haze. Inside, the darkness was so complete that she might as well have been blind and it would have made no real difference. Sandor led her to a stall and after having freed her of the bundle of blankets she had held, he bade her to wait by its side as he prepared their mounts. For several long minutes, she stood in place, her mind empty of any thought and limbs shaking as much from the cold as from the uncertainty of her circumstances.

"Come," Sansa heard the Hound's low rasp.

His large hands found her and she jumped from the unexpected touch but Sandor steadied her. With great care not to press too hard on her belly, he lifted her onto her mare. Once she was seated, he walked to the door on foot, the reins of both Stranger and the little mare in hands.

"Be very quiet now," the Hound breathed as they progressed toward Ingrith's house. He glanced at her severely and she nodded to show she had understood.

The old woman and her sons were sleeping, judging by the small amount of light which passed through the hide windows and the sight sent a pang through Sansa's heart. She would most likely never see them again.

When they arrived to the road, Sandor swung himself over his stallion and gazed at Sansa, the dim moonlight's glow catching very briefly in his eyes. "Let's go now. Slowly at first, but we'll hasten our pace in a few minutes."

A very light snow was falling from the sky, Sansa noticed, and the lane before them was dark and foreboding. She wanted naught less than to venture over it, was so exhausted and confused. _This cannot be truly happening, it must be a nightmare,_ she mused.

Sadly though, Sansa knew very well just how wrong this was, for the cold she felt was far too real for that. Gathering her courage, she nodded at Sandor and they both headed away into the night.

* * *

_ETA (made on __July 11th 2016__) : To anyone rereading this story or reading it for the first time, I've decided to cut chapter 15 in two in order to be able to post earlier. Therefore, they'll be 16 chapters to this story and not 15 as planned. :)_


	15. Chapter 15

_After more than four months of wait, chapter 15 is finally done. But as some of you may already know, this is not the final chapter after all. They'll be another one, and hopefully this one will be the last in truth._

_I'd like to thank Leigh of Oldstone for all the hard work she did for me and the many chapters she betayed for this story. Sadly though, she was unable to continue anymore but I'll forever be grateful to her. :) Yet I'm lucky that I found her a replacement in no time in UKcatlawyer. Thank you so much for offering to help me! :D_

_I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!_

* * *

The stallion's footsteps were slow and measured, and Sansa clung to his back as the beast slowly progressed through the heavy, deep snow. She jerked with each strenuous and repetitive stride he took, both of her mitten-covered hands clenching the pommel of Stranger's saddle as she struggled to remain mounted despite the enormity of her expanding belly.

All she could see through the wind and snow before her was the vague shape of trees. That and Sandor's back. He walked barely a foot ahead of her, holding both Stranger and the mare's reins in hand. The dark fabric of his cloak, its hood pulled closely over his head, was covered with snowflakes, which glistened brilliantly in the light of day.

The sun had been up for hours, though Sansa couldn't say for how many. She'd lost track of time somewhere between the bleeding of night into day and had not been able to sleep for more than a few minutes since they had left the farm it seemed, leading to her increasing state of lethargy and confusion. She was always just on the edge of slumber – so much so that she began dreaming with her eyes still opened on more than a few occasions - yet her fear of losing her balance and falling to the ground was too strong for her to fully give in to it.

The weather was bitterly cold and Sansa shivered despite her heavy cloak and the furs Sandor had placed over her shoulders. While he had taken care to wrap them around her tightly soon after they'd left the farm, encapsulating her as if a cocoon, it was not enough for her to be truly comfortable. Besides they kept sliding down her upper arms and she always had to pull them back up.

Sometime around dawn, the Hound had jumped down from his stallion to pull her off her mare and carry her over Stranger's back. The snow was getting thick and Sandor feared their horses might trip and injure themselves. The riders' added weight would not help if that was to happen, he had explained.

"But you, stay on Stranger. He's so used to carrying me that he'll surely not even realise you're there. Even ready to burst as you are, you're still as light as a bloody feather," he had rasped.

The expression on his face had been somewhat mocking and his tone nonchalant, however Sansa hadn't missed the spark of concern that briefly flashed in his eyes. Since then, she'd managed to avoid mulling over the possibility that the Hound might not be resolutely in control of their situation. It was not an idea she wished to consider. Besides, it was only natural that she should let him carry the worry for the both of them. It was _him,_ after all, who had insisted they leave the warmth and comfort of their little house in the middle of the night. It was only right that he bear the burden of worry more than she. It was only fair.

As the sun rose in the sky, Sansa gradually became more alert. Still, her restless night and morning had left her utterly drained. She had a hard time keeping her eyes opened in anything more than slits, for they had gotten as dry as paper, and her back ached from the overnight hours spent in the saddle. Her bottom and inner thighs were sore and undoubtedly bruised but most of all, it was the biting cold that made her suffer. Her feet, fingers, nose, backside, and legs, everything… it seemed that there was no a part of her body that was not frozen, numb, or throbbing.

_Is the baby alright in spite of all of this?_ Sansa wondered anytime she felt him move. Was he trying to send her a message or was he just stretching his limbs? Every few minutes, she would slide her hand under her cloak to stroke her rounded belly, as if to protect the babe inside her womb, hoping the gesture might soothe him. She was so very fearful for him. What if he was cold? What if he felt her anxiety and was affected by it? And what about the constant rocking of the horse beneath her? The very notion that he might suffer from any of this brought tears to her eyes and caused her throat to tighten painfully. _He'll be alright, he'll be alright. He has to be! He has survived so much already,_ she kept repeating to herself whenever her concerns became too much to bear. She could only pray that she was right.

Slowly but steadily, Sandor walked with his back to her as he had for hours. While it was subtle, Sansa could sense just how weary he was. She could read it in the heaviness of his steps through the knee deep snow and in the way his shoulders and head slightly dipped. _This is too much for both of us, _she thought, suddenly overcome by sadness. While the Hound had always been an undefeatable force in her mind, winter was no ordinary opponent. She wished they could both disappear from the never ending forest and be elsewhere, anywhere! Somewhere they could both rest, where Sandor could regain his strength. She didn't like seeing him like that.

Even from yards away, she could hear him breathe heavily and sigh and every sound he made blended with the noise of the snow crushing underfoot and the wind howling howling into the vacuum of the empty, icy forest. It was deafening in a way, how soft and yet pervasive all those noises were. How very disconcerting that their surroundings could be so quiet despite the brutality of the situation.

Around them, almost everything was blisteringly white. Whenever the wind rose, the snow from the ground would join in with the flakes that fell from the sky. The world would turn into naught but a rough and swirling white veil then, one that would scrape over the few inches of skin Sansa hadn't managed to cover.

_Why, oh why do I have to go through this?_ she asked herself. It was so very cruel and unfair that they would endure such harsh conditions with so little sleep when the little house they had lived in for the last few moons begged for their return only hours away. If not for the Hound's unexpected change of mind, they would still have the cottage's four walls to shield them from the wind and cold and its roof over their heads to protect them from the falling snow…

_Sandor has his reasons. It's not like he's enjoying this himself either,_ she reminded herself as she gazed at his dark, imposing shape just ahead._ He told me staying at the farm wouldn't be safe anymore. That he feared Robb's men might find us._ A part of her really did want place blind trust in the Hound, for it would have been much easier, yet another resented him too much for the hardship she had to live through thanks to his decision not to question it. Besides, the Hound had been so evasive in his answer when she had begged him for an explanation yesterday night and the little information he had grudgingly given her didn't entirely make sense. For one, his claim that there was no immediate danger in their situation and that she need not fear for he was only being cautious was hard to believe considering how rushed their exit had been. It was obvious Sandor had lied about the danger they faced in order not to upset her too much. He'd told her he had been alerted by something Ingrith had said, still he had not deemed it important to provide her with any details - as if it didn't matter whether or not she knew, or perhaps more probably, that he would rather she stayed in the dark.

As it all unfolded yesterday night, Sansa had been in too much of a shock over the prospect of disappearing into the dark of night to argue with him and she'd ended up doing as the Hound bade her even though she was scared to death and didn't understand half of what was going on. She had ended up being meek and obedient as usual_. _ _As he always likes me to be_. It was hard for Sansa to ever stand up to him and she was well aware the man had no qualms about exploiting her weakness to better control her. Even after all those moons they had spent together and how intimate they had grown, she was still very easily intimidated by him. He only had to raise his voice, frown, or glare at her before she transformed into a frightened little girl._ A little girl who'll soon have a child of her own,_ Sansa reflected ruefully, a hand rising to stroke her belly._ That doesn't make much sense at all._

"Let's wait for a moment, little bird," the Hound barked as she continued to think through all of this, glancing at her over his shoulder. His voice was but a low rasp and barely getting through the sound of the squall.

By the way his whole upper body heaved, Sansa could tell his breathing had gotten quite labored. It was best that they stopped indeed and thus she nodded at once.

Turning his back to her again, Sandor led her and the horses to a small hill, a little deeper into the woods from the road. The rocks on its flank formed a natural wall at the bottom of which there was a relatively large hollow with almost no snow on the floor underneath. Undoubtedly it would provide the best protection from the wind they could hope to find in the middle of the nowhere as they where.

When they reached it, Sandor settled a couple of the blankets he'd packed on the ground in the deepest part of the hollow before carrying Sansa over them. She still had her furs that he'd earlier given her over her cloak and she tightened them around her shoulders as soon as she was installed. No matter how bleak their surroundings, it felt so good to be sheltered from the snowstorm and at least a little more comfortable.

After he had checked on the horses and pulled them near the stone wall, the Hound leaned his back heavily against the tall pine tree that was just in front of the hollow. He had a wineskin in hand and gulped noisily at it. Once he was done, he threw his head back and exhaled loudly. "You hungry?" he inquired, his voice rougher than ever.

Sansa gave a small nod.

"As I am." With that he turned around, fishing through his saddlebag to retrieve some of the dark, almost black seed bread he had brought from the farm and sat down by Sansa's side in her small makeshift shelter. "Here," he told her, tearing the bread into two equal pieces and giving her one half.

Sansa accepted it without bothering to remove her mittens, quickly biting into the grainy mass. Her mouth was so dry that it was hard for her to chew, most of the bread cementing to the roof of her mouth and back of her teeth.

"Here, take some wine now," he bade her, holding out the wineskin to her. Sandor had just taken another long swig and was wiping his mouth with his sleeve

Sansa wordlessly accepted it and swallowed. The wine was ice cold and unbelievably bitter but it felt good and soothing nonetheless as it danced down her throat. It was very strong and immediately lit a small fire in her belly, the warmth welcome given their current circumstances. Without hesitation, she sipped at it again before handing the skin back to the Hound.

"I should've packed more food," the man admitted flatly once he had wolfed down his share of bread and drunk from the wineskin again. "We'll be fine with what we have though so don't you fret, but still this is going to take us longer than I had envisioned. We'll have no more than a few crumbs left once we arrive at White Harbor." Leaning the back of his head to the stone wall behind him, Sandor let out a faint snort and shut his eyes. "I'm not even sure where we're at exactly. There wasn't so much snow when last we passed through these parts… The scenery has changed."

At that, Sansa scanned her surroundings. She didn't recognise the place they were in either. They might as well have been at the other end of the world for as much as these lands seemed alien to her. She had never known the North to be so white, barren, and harsh. But then she had never known the North in winter. And certainly not the depth of winter…

"Gods… to be honest with you, I doubt we'll make it to White Harbour today, little bird. Would be buggering surprising indeed," the Hound murmured, his features barely moving.

"Not sure? What do you mean?" Sansa asked, her own voice so husky she almost didn't recognise it. She had not spoken a word for hours, she realised

"We'll get there, Sansa. It'll just take a little longer than I had reckoned. We won't stop until we board our ship and I'll not sleep until we do," the Hound promised, keeping his eyes closed and voice measured.

As she listened to his words, Sansa raised her sleepy eyes to gaze up at his face. The dark circles under his eyes were scarily deep and as dark as tar, and the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth were much deeper than usual, making him look older than his years. How long had it been since he had last slept? The strands of hair peaking from beneath his hood were frozen into icicles and white from the snow that clung to them, yet the skin of his face was glazed over with sweat. His burns looked very gruesome just now, glistening as they were, Sansa noted dispassionately.

Sighing, she raised her knees as much as she could against her rounded belly and folded her arms over her knees. Then resting her brow over them, she closed her eyes, hearing the wind shift and change direction around her. Slowly, she could feel herself lose consciousness, and it was such a relief for her mind to wander from this cursed place. So much so that she didn't as much as attempt to fight it.

Yet after only a few minutes of that, she heard a deep, deaf sound and was brusquely brought back to reality. The Hound had let himself fall against the stone wall behind them, she saw as she lifted her head from the cradle of her arms. She wondered for a moment if he had passed out from having drunk his wine too fast or if it was his excessive exhaustion that was to blame. His head was thrown back, and she couldn't see his eyes with the way his hood shielded them, but she was sure they were shut. Should she wake him up then? Just in case he would truly slumber off? She'd heard stories in her youth about men who died from having fallen asleep in the cold. She could hear him snore already, though only very faintly.

_Perhaps we should both die. The world wouldn't miss us, and I'm so drowsy too…_ the thought came to her, distant as if in a dream. Leaning her brow against her arms again, Sansa allowed her heavy eyelids to close and was ready to give in to the temptation when the baby moved in her womb. All of a sudden, he became agitated, as if he willed her to wake up and keep on going. _I can't quit. It's not just about me_. Her movements sluggish though her mind was set, Sansa rested a hand to her stomach to stoke it soothingly. Her fingers were numb under her mittens and fingers stiff, but she flexed and unflexed them a few times before straightening her back.

"Sandor…" she breathed, her voice so weak, she could barely make it out herself.

A spell of dizziness took over her at that same instant and she curled back into herself but the baby moved again and kicked at her from her insides_. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,_ she told him inwardly. She would not let him down. It was simply not an option.

Gathering her strength, she turned to the Hound and squeezed his upper arm. "Sandor," she repeated, louder this time. "Wake up! Wake up! _Please_!"

The man let out a surprised grunt and shifted in his position. He looked lost for an instant but then contracted his powerful muscles and turned his stare on her. "I'm here. It's alright, Sansa. I just dozed off for short instant." His voice had the rough edge it always had for the first few minutes after he'd woken up in the morning but there was determination in it nonetheless. "We're going now. Until we get to White Harbor, as I told you. You can sleep in the saddle if you want but you've my promise this is the last I rest until our ship has left shore and is well into the sea," he told her, standing up.

For a brief instant, Sansa admired his determination and fortitude, for she could tell that despite his words, in truth Sandor was beyond drained. He'd be willing to continue like that for moons and moons and never sleep for longer than a half-hour at a time if it meant getting to his goal. Yet Sansa's awe swiftly turned sour as she remembered how his heavy-handedness could have cost them both of their lives and that of their unborn child. If it had not been for the kicks the baby had given her just a couple of minutes ago, she and Sandor would most likely have gone into a fatigue and cold-induced coma, and then died from exposure to the biting and unforgiving elements. Leaving the farm had been very reckless, for wandering in this weather for too long meant almost certain death. Sandor had pretended he had good reasons for them to undertake this journey, yet without any true explanation, Sansa was starting to doubt his judgment in the matter. What could be worse than facing this storm and risking their lives after all?

"We should go back," she heard herself say, a frown creasing her brow. "Back to Ingrith's house."

The Hound snorted. "You're speaking nonsense, little bird," he scolded. "It's been slow going but we're certainly at least halfway there. Why go back now? It would be plain stupid, I tell you that."

"Because reaching White Harbour won't be the end of it," Sansa responded, folding her arms over her chest. "We'll need to take a ship from there and you must remember how badly I reacted to life over water! Just thinking about it I feel queasy all over again…"

"Don't be so dramatic. You got used to it with time. Besides, your seasickness was most likely not even that. You told me yourself bouts of nausea are a telltale sign that a woman is expecting."

"Oh, but I was seasick as well!" Sansa retorted, piqued to see her suffering diminished so. "I got used to it, that's true indeed, but it took me a _whole fortnight_! I can't afford to be sick for so long with the baby still growing in me! I need to eat, if only for him!"

At that, the Hound glanced down critically at her bulging stomach. "Looks to me like he did enough growing already. I think he can afford to slow down a bit."

Sansa gaped in shock at his words. "Oh, Sandor! How can you say something so horrible? It's not his fault if he's on his way to be as big as you! He's not done developing and needs to be fed! I still have more than _two moons_ to go before I give birth!" She was so angry, tears had welled in her eyes.

"Alright, alright! I take back my words. I hope he doubles in size," the man hurriedly responded. "Now enough of that. Come on, we need to get going." As he spoke, the Hound stooped and seized Sansa's wrists, yanking her to her feet.

"I still want to go back," the girl complained, freeing herself from his grasp as soon as she stood up.

"Seven Hells, Sansa! Will you quit insisting or not? I'm sure both you and the babe will be just fine," Sandor hissed, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Winter's known for being a quieter time for travel by sea. Fewer storms in cold weather."

"Yes, fewer storms, yet the ones that occur are far more treacherous. Even I know that! What if the worst came to happen? What if our vessel was to sink and we all died, drowned in the dark and freezing water?" Sansa exclaimed on the edge of panic. "What would be the point of-"

"Shhh, be quiet now and listen to me," the Hound cut her sharply. Bending over her, he lowered his face near hers and narrowed his eyes. "Staying here in the North is no fucking safer than taking a ship across the Narrow Sea. We cannot stay here, by the bloody Stranger!"

"But what's so dangerous, Sandor? I don't understand what has changed so suddenly since yesterday afternoon when you spoke to Githa! What has she told you that makes you fear my brother might find us? Before that, you were never worried about our safety at Ingrith's farm."

The Hound barked a short, bitter laugh and straightened his back. "And I was a fool for it."

"What happened? Please tell me!" Sansa implored of him. Craning her neck as much as she could, she raised both of her hands to his chest to clutch at his chainmail shirt. "I _need_ to know why we've left in such a rush! Perhaps it would give me courage to be aware of what exactly we are fleeing from… I badly need that right now!"

For a long moment it seemed, the Hound stayed motionless and kept his stare glued on her, a very serious expression on his face. "Githa told me there are rumours about us in White Harbor," he rasped just as Sansa was starting to believe he wouldn't reply. "Better to disappear before they reach Winterfell."

"Rumours?" Sansa repeated, her eyes growing wide. "What sort of rumours?"

"What the fuck do you think?" he returned heatedly. By the harshness of his tone, Sansa could tell he was already regretting having shared even the little bit of information he had. "Enough talking now, Sansa. We need get going," he prompted. Removing her hands where they still lay over his chest, he turned his back to her and pulled her toward Stranger.

"But, Sandor! What exactly did-"

Turning to face her fully again and tightening his hold on the wrist he still held so much that it hurt, the Hound lowered his face near hers. "I said _enough buggering talking_! Didn't you fucking hear me?!" he snarled, his eyes burning with wrath.

His whole demeanour spoke of how he wouldn't tolerate a single additional word from her and the sight was enough to convince Sansa to keep silent. Cowered, she nodded and let Sandor lift her over his stallion._ He still scares me,_ she admitted to herself, echoing her earlier thoughts. _He still can whenever he wills it_.

Over the last few moons they had spent together at the farm, the Hound had taken such good care of her. He had it in himself to be patient, kind and gentle - and even to show her tenderness sometimes -and thus it had often been easy for Sansa to pretend there was naught problematic about their relationship. At times, she'd almost forgotten that other unrelenting side of him she hated so much even existed. In moments such as now though, reality came crashing upon her. It was indeed he who had ignored her cries and pleas as he pinned her to the ground and stole her innocence. Sansa could still taste the terror he had inspired in her on that fateful day and feel the weight of his body on her and the slick of the moss against her back as he took what should've been hers alone to give.

Her bottom lip quivering, the girl kept her gaze lowered as Sandor gathered both his stallion and the mare's reins in his hands. She bit hard at it and blinked a few times in hope that it would keep the tears she struggled to hold back from gathering in her eyes, but her efforts went unrewarded as her vision became increasingly wet and blurred. The Hound's harshness had wounded her, no doubt, but mostly she was frustrated with herself for always being so meek and pliable to his demands. It was as if her freewill didn't matter, even to herself.

"Let's go now," Sandor ordered, pulling the horses behind him.

As they resumed their strenuous walk through the snow, both mounts sneezed and snorted unhappily, still they were just as docile as Sansa under the Hound's hands. Slowly but surely, they began again on their journey towards White Harbor, as had been the man's wish.

* * *

They resumed progressing much as they had before, at a snail's pace through the storm. For the first half hour or so, Sansa's mind was busy as she kept thinking back on Sandor's reluctant admission that there were rumours circulating about them in White Harbor. He had preferred to cut short the conversation even before it had truly started and so she could only speculate on the exact nature of the gossip. However if truth be told, the girl wasn't sure she really wanted to know.

Shortly, her fatigue became too overbearing for her to ruminate on anything apart from her aching and cold body, that and her longing for a comfy bed and warm fire. Her eyelids were increasingly heavy and staying alert grew impossible. Sleep got the better of her in no time, though to call the state she was in _restful_ was certainly an overstatement. It was too light and troubled for it but at least, the likelihood of slipping down off of Stranger's back was slight given that she always remained aware she was sitting in a saddle.

Soon, the nightmare that was her reality began to mingle with strange and disquieting dreams. In those, she could hear men yell and the sound of people running in the woods but anytime she very briefly came back to full consciousness, she could never remember what they had been about, although her heart would keep racing in her chest for a minute or two afterwards. She hated them and yet couldn't find it in herself to stay awake.

After many hours of that, a wolf howled from somewhere apparently not so far and the sound resounded so loudly in her ears that it instantly woke her up for good. She opened her eyes, unsure whether the howling had been part of her dream or not. It was totally dark outside, she realised. Had it really been a whole day since they had begun their journey to White Harbor? Probably, yet they were still in the middle of nowhere.

_I cannot take much more of this,_ Sansa mused desperately. While she had been dozing off since the afternoon, she was no more rested than she had been beforehand – only more confused and a bit nauseous. She could sense herself getting dangerously close to sobbing but she took a deep breath and fought the urge.

"Sandor," she heard herself squeak, breaking a silence that had lasted ever since their pause by the hollow. "How long do you think it'll be before we reach White Harbor?" she asked.

"You're awake, little bird?" the Hound replied. Sansa could barely see him, he was almost only shadows to her, but the wan moonlight that passed through the clouds caught in his eyes for an instant as he turned to glance her way. "Not sure," he murmured flatly. "Hopefully we'll be there somewhere throughout the day tomorrow."

"Oh," Sansa let out, bitterly disappointed. That was not good at all. Around her, she could hear the horses panting and the Hound didn't seem so well either. Yet in spite of his state, he put his back to her and resumed advancing through the snow without waiting to see if she had anything else to tell him.

_This is too much. Simply too much!_ Sansa reflected, her eyes filling with tears. She was about to lose it and start to cry well and truly when she glimpsed a faraway light ahead. Squinting in its direction, she realised it came from what seemed to be either a house or a small farm. They had indeed passed by a few dwellings along the road on their way to Ingrith's farm, the girl remembered in a mix of relief and hope.

"Sandor… Sandor!" she called.

Letting out a grunt, he paused in his walk and unhurriedly turned around to look at her over his shoulder.

"A house, Sandor! There is a house ahead!"

"I'm not blind, Sansa, I've seen it too. It's not the first one we've passed by either. They've been others before."

Sansa squirmed in her seat in dismay. The thought that they had continued in such horrid conditions for so many long hours while only a few yards from them at times, places shielded from the wind and heated by inviting fires had been in their reach made her want to weep. Why had Sandor not called a halt yet? She needed a break from this, didn't he see it?

"Let's stop for what remains of the night, Sandor. Please! We wouldn't be refused if we asked."

The Hound shook his head, though in the darkness she could only see his hood move. "Not a good idea, little bird. I don't trust these people." Then, as if he thought better of it, he added: "Or more precisely, I don't trust anyone in this buggering world we're in."

"Oh but, Sandor! I can't go on like this for much longer! I need a bed and the warmth of a fire! _Please!_" she begged him, her voice breaking pitifully as she spoke.

At that, the man let out a heavy sigh. It seemed to weight on him to reply. "I know… I know and I'd like nothing more than to give it to you - believe my bloody words, little bird," he assured her in a monotone. "But if we stop in one of those houses… well, I'll need to kill every one of its inhabitants just to make sure no one speaks afterwards."

Sansa winced in horror at that. "Oh, Sandor! Why?"

"We need to disappear from the surface of Westeros unnoticed. Too many know of our presence here in the North already," he replied, his voice just as impassive.

"But we wouldn't tell them who we are. All I need is a few hours of true sleep. I promise we'd leave before the sun is up and so they wouldn't be able to see us so well without daylight and-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sansa. Anyone catching so much as a glimpse of us can tell already we're not just any regular travelers," he cut her scornfully, her suggestion having given him a fraction of his usual bite back. "And now with those twice-damned rumours… Gods, you can be sure these people would know us. They wouldn't admit to it of course. No, if they have so much as the cunning the gods gave those two half-witted boys Ingrith has for sons, they'd act as if they had not a clue of who we are but that would be a lie." Exhaling loudly through his nose, he took a few steps towards Sansa until she could discern his features under the dim moonlight. His neck craned to better look at her, he met her gaze with his and tilted his head. "Don't deceive yourself, Sansa. They'd guess you're their king's younger sister and I, Joffrey's dog from the moment we'd step through the threshold of their poxy little house. And you think they wouldn't see that belly of yours as well?" he spat, nodding at it. "You're dreaming, little bird, if you believe you can conceal it under your cloak."

Her eyes grown wide, Sansa's hand instinctively went over her stomach to cup it. "Are people… expecting me to be… to be…" she started weakly, too mortified to finish her sentence.

"_Heavy with my bastard_?" the Hound suggested. He snorted and bared his teeth in something closer to a snarl than a smile. "Why, they might and it wouldn't be completely preposterous of them either. You can't deny it_, can you_?" he rasped, glancing down at her rounded stomach. "But for as long as no one sees us – and most of all, sees _you_ – the rumors aren't grounded in any truth so far as they know. That's why we need continue on our way until we get to White Harbor, and then board a ship the moment we arrive."

Sansa bit at her bottom lip. She understood the logic behind his words but that didn't mean she was suddenly eager to keep on going. Yet what choice did she have at this point? Besides, she was too exhausted to argue any longer and so she nodded once and looked down, defeated.

Exhaling with something like relief, the Hound turned around and pulled on the horses' reins, both beasts resuming their slow walk at once. "I know it's hard for you, Sansa, but be brave and it will all be over soon. I promise you'll never be cold afterwards. I'll make sure about that," he assured her, his voice much calmer then it had been but a moment before.

He was gazing at her over his shoulder she realized, waiting for her to acknowledge his words, and thus Sansa nodded acceptingly again, even though she had a hard time believing him. She had a hard time believing anything except the reality of the harsh stretch of freezing and unforgiving land that extended before them existed. Yet Sandor appeared satisfied with her response and returned his attention to the road ahead.

They kept going but Sansa was too cold this time around to fall asleep. While she had not enjoyed her previous half-sleep in the least, she found her state of discomfort and utter exhaustion even more horrible now that she was fully conscious of it. She was shivering all over and felt as stiff as if her flesh had turned to ice. Shutting her eyes, she contracted her muscles and curled up into herself as much as she could in her position astride Stranger, thinking of nothing and listening to the sounds of the wind as it blew in the air and the snow as it was being crushed under the horses' hooves. She felt very weak and increasingly dizzy as well and soon lost track of time altogether –until without realising it until it was too late, she lost balance and slid down from the saddle.

_My baby!_ was the only thought that crossed her mind as she braced herself for the worst, yet just before she hit the ground, she felt strong arms under her. It was the Hound of course. He had literally thrown himself to the floor in order to catch her and they both fell into the snow together. Though Sansa's fall was definitely absorbed by his action, her breath caught in her throat with the impact and her body became taut, all of its previous aches suddenly amplified by ten.

Through the haze that was her vision, she saw the Hound was fixing her with his stare in a mix of fury and disbelief. "Seven bloody Hells, Sansa! What the fuck are you doing?! Want to break that pretty neck of yours?" he snapped at her, removing his arms from under her to prop himself over her, a hand on each side of her.

Tears instantly filled Sansa's eyes. She wanted to tell him not to be mad, for it was certainly not as if she had fallen on purpose, but she couldn't speak at all. In her fall, she had crushed her lungs and now in shock, it was as if they didn't want to respond anymore. Her throat was closing painfully and the air only barely made it in. The awareness alarmed her. Panic-stricken, she began to inhale the little air she could faster and faster until she was straight out panting but still, that was not enough and she was starting to suffocate.

That seemed to scare the Hound. "Sansa?" he asked, his previous anger completely gone. "Sansa, talk to me! Are you alright?"

Sansa shook her head, but still she couldn't speak. Instead, she began coughing and choking at the same time.

"Seven Hells, little bird! Damned you girl! Calm down and breathe! Breathe!" he exhorted her, clearly very agitated himself too. "Don't die on me now. _Don't do it_! Not after everything we've went through."

As he spoke, he rose to his knees all the while remaining bowed over Sansa. With both his hands, he readjusted her position over the snowy ground so that her upper body was slightly higher than the rest of her. Then, he started rubbing her shoulders and upper arms. "Breathe now… shhh… quiet… quiet," he told her, his voice very urgent and yet as soft as it could be. There was strength in his touch, as well as in his eyes, and as he stared at her, Sansa felt just as if he was passing some of his to her. All of a sudden, her respiration slowed down, though very faintly at first.

Sandor didn't miss it. "Come on now… come on, little bird," he encouraged her, stroking his hands over her clothes to warm her with all the patience and care in the world.

Strangely, for as much as he could be intimidating and bring Sansa to feel like a puny little thing, there was also something very soothing about the Hound when he willed it as he did now. He had the power to make her feel safe for she wholeheartedly believed that there was nothing he could not handle. The notion reassured her, somehow, and soon her crisis was well and truly over.

Exhaling heavily, Sandor lowered his brow against her collarbone – as if exhausted. "Good girl," he breathed. Then, after a few seconds, as on an afterthought he added under his breath: "Seven Hells… for a moment, I feared you might give birth on the spot."

Sansa shook in horror. That would have been catastrophic indeed. Chasing the thought away, she shut her eyes. "I'm cold," she whispered, her voice cracking with every word spoken.

"I know," Sandor replied lowly. Sighing, he lifted his head to gaze at her. "I know, Sansa. I'll get you out of this. Just hold on… hold on." He paused to look her over before wincing same as if he were in pain. "Alright. Alright, I'll find you a shelter for the remaining of the night. No choice about that, I can see it now. We'll stop at the next house we see."

The relief that flooded over Sansa as she heard his words was unbelievable. "Oh, Sandor! Thank you!" she cried weakly.

"Let's go now," he muttered in a tone that made it clear he didn't share her enthusiasm. Wrapping his arms around her to pull her tightly against him, he stood to his feet. Sansa snaked her arms around his neck and let him raise her hood high over her head.

As she laid her head against his shoulder, her memory came back to her. "But, Sandor… please don't kill anyone. I beg you not to! It won't be necessary. Just ask them for a place in their stable for the night and hide me from them. And conceal your scars as well."

The Hound laughed at that. A laugh devoid of any humour or strength. "There's no hiding those scars, little bird."

"Please, try at least!" Sansa insisted, craning her neck to look up at his face. From her perspective, resting her head on his shoulder, she had a clear view of his burns. Indeed they were hard to miss, even shielded by his hood in the depth of the night. "I really don't want you to hurt anyone," she added rather than attempt to convince him that he was wrong.

"Gods, little bird… I can't-"

"_Please_!" she begged of him, clutching at the fabric of his cloak.

"Shhh. Now stop that, Sansa. You're too weak to bicker like that." Then, taking a step toward Stranger, he told her more softly: "I'll do my best not to kill anyone, but I'd rather not promise anything."

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. That was obviously not good enough but she didn't insist anyhow, for she was indeed too weak for that. "Oh, Sandor," was all she managed to whisper as he placed her over the stallion's back again.

They kept going for some time in silence after that. Although Sansa dreaded falling from the saddle again more than anything, she struggled to keep her eyes opened for longer than a couple of seconds and thus couldn't be as watchful as she'd have liked. Sandor stayed by her side this time around though, ready to catch her at any instant, and it did make her feel somewhat better. Many long minutes passed like that – or perhaps hours – yet at one point the Hound shook her gently to grasp her attention. They were standing in front of a small house, she saw.

"Here, little bird. It's not really good though. No stables here. Only this this poxy little house. It's secluded at least. The first dwelling we came across since you fell from Stranger and I see no light ahead either, even in the distance."

Sansa squinted, the wintry wind hurting her eyes, and saw he was right. The building that stood before them was tiny, even smaller than the little house they had lived in all those moons at Ingrith's farm and made only from wood, twigs, and straw. A fire was burning in its hearth, judging by the light that passed through its sole minuscule hide window, but there was no chimney and the smoke escaped the house by a hole in its roof.

"You sure you want to sleep there, Sansa? We could continue until we find something better."

The very idea made Sansa tremble in despair. "No, Sandor! Please, I'm so cold and tired. I cannot keep on going like this! We need to stop!"

The Hound didn't say anything in response, simply gazing at her, as if he was reconsidering his decision.

"It's the middle of the night," she continued, terrified that he might change his mind. "Perhaps the house's owners will be too sleepy to think anything of us and will go back to bed as soon as we're installed by their fire. And then, we'll leave even before they wake up and they'll never know it was us who were there," Sansa suggested, not believing her own words herself. If truth be told, she was simply too weary to really care. Just as long as Sandor didn't kill anyone.

"Alright then," the man conceded after what seemed like an eternity. "Let's go and wake these people."


	16. Chapter 16

_Hi to all readers! Here's the 16__th__chapter at last! I'm sorry if it always takes me so long to post. This is not the final chapter after all but the upcoming one will be for sure - and this time it__is__true! I've already written the draft so, yeah, no doubt about it._

_I'd like to thank my beta UKcatlawyer for having helped with this in spite of her crazy schedule! Really appreciated! :D :D :D_

_As always, comments are more than welcome! I hope everyone enjoys! :D_

* * *

_Gods, it's even smaller than I first thought,_ Sandor mused as he approached the puny little house in front of him._ No bigger than the White Sword Tower's buggering privies. _Cursing under his breath, he strode towards what was to be his and Sansa's shelter for the remainder of the night, a violent wind blowing in his face.

If he'd have had any choice in the matter, Sandor would have turned back while he still had time and continued to move along the snowy lane until he and the little bird found something bigger – or better yet, _until they reached White Harbour_. Yet that was no option and it was quite obvious, looking at the girl tucked in his arms. She was barely conscious so Sandor kept walking toward the small poxy house, his mood as dark as the night.

Noise was shortly heard coming from inside and even before he could knock, the door opened. A man was standing in the threshold, he and Sandor silently staring at each other for a few heartbeats. The stranger in front of him was seemingly just as sleepy as he was confused, yet his puzzlement swiftly turned to worry. While the bottom half of Sandor's face was hidden under a scarf, his height and build were enough to intimidate most anyone – that and the longword he had sheathed at his hip. The man wasn't so small himself, but he was a good head shorter than Sandor, unarmed and just as skinny as Ingrith's two halfwit sons.

"Anything I can do for you, ser?" he asked tentatively, barely meeting Sandor's gaze as he spoke.

"I need a place by your fire for my… my wife," Sandor after an awkward moment of silence. In his arms, Sansa drew in a sharp breath and shifted to press her face against his chest, probably surprised to hear him call her so.

It was a preposterous lie indeed and Sandor sneered at uttering it. Still, unless the man was blind - which certainly didn't seem likely with the way his stare was restlessly raking between he and Sansa – he would have already noticed the girl he was carrying in his arms was heavy with child. It would make no sense for a woman so far along as she to travel without her husband, and thus her husband Sandor would be no matter how much he knew he didn't look the part.

The stranger seemed to hesitate but in the end he knew what was best for him and nodded. "This house's modest but anyone in need's welcomed by our hearth," he said, his voice thin and hesitant as he moved from the threshold to let them in.

He clearly hadn't meant a word he'd said. Sandor could smell just how uneasy he was, yet in a way he was just as wary as him. Scanning the place for any danger, he walked in, the thick smoky and stuffy air of the cabin burning his eyes and making him wince.

"We won't bother you for very long, be off at first light," Sandor rasped as he looked around.

The man nodded, shutting the door behind him. Apart from him, there was a woman inside – his wife most likely - and a couple of children were sleeping in a corner of the room. The place was very small, so rustic it made the peasant cottage he and Sansa had lived in for the last few moons look like a bloody palace. There was no bed, only straw strewn over the floor with rough spun blankets, old worn out furs thrown over it. A pitiful excuse for a hearth made from river stones and dried earth stood at the centre of the building, just beneath the hole in the ceiling which served as a chimney. Sandor approached it, the man's wife following him with her gaze. In her arms she held an infant just as tightly as if she feared Sandor might snatch it from her. As he passed by her she backed away nervously, almost losing her footing.

The couple's stares on him, Sandor kneeled down and installed the little bird over the straw covered floor. "Little bird," he murmured, trying to ignore his irritation at having their ears pricked up, listening. "Little bird, how are you feeling?"

Wearily, Sansa tilted her face and met his gaze with hers. Her eyes were barely opened and she looked about to fall asleep. "Tired," she breathed very softly. The white fur of her hood was like a pale halo around her face, its fine hair moving ever so slightly as she spoke, caressing her cheeks.

In the firelight, Sandor could see just how deep the dark circles under her eyes had grown, and that, added to the ashen shade her skin had taken, filled him with concern. She had not seemed so ailing in the darkness outside.

"I'll bring in your bedroll and all of our furs and covers in just an instant, little bird. I'll install you as comfortable as possible and you'll soon feel much better, you'll see," he promised, sliding a hand under her cowl to stroke her hair.

Her only response was to nod and shut her eyes, shivering and tightening her cloak around her.

From behind him, Sandor could hear the sound of children speaking even as their mother shushed them. The father was still standing by the door, his tall, lanky shape an immobile shadow in his peripheral vision, but Sandor only had eyes for the unconscious girl before him.

_She'll be alright_, he assured himself, uncertain of whether he truly believed it. Whatever the answer, the little bird needed more warmth than their fire could provide. His heart beating fast, Sandor reluctantly turned his attention away from her and rose to his feet.

The two children were watching him, he noticed as he headed toward the door, their eyes gleaming in a mix of curiosity and fear even as their mother tried to convince them to go back to sleep. They were very young, no more than toddlers the both of them. As Sandor's nose had told him from the moment he entered the house, beasts lived among the people here – a couple of chickens and most likely a few mice as well. He grimaced, glancing at the birds in disgust as they gracelessly walked between him and the door. Sansa really looked out of place in this dump, with her rich grey-white fur cloak and finely made boots. By the baffled expression both the man and woman had on their face, there was no doubting they had come to the same conclusion as well. Hopefully the rumours about him and Sansa that Githa had heard while she stayed at White Harbour had not reached these lost lands yet, or else these people were sure to have already guessed who they were.

_Perhaps I should kill them,_ Sandor thought, eyeing the wife and husband in turn. It wouldn't be hard but he had promised the little bird he'd avoid resorting to violence unless it was absolutely necessary. He'd stick to his word, no matter how much he didn't like it in the least. He'd need to stay vigilant though._ I'll watch their every move and make sure to keep my face hidden from them, _Sandor resolved, stifling a yawn. Gods he was so tired. It would be a bloody struggle, but he wouldn't sleep at all until they left. He had no choice anyway.

"You've anything warm to eat for her?" Sandor asked the woman once he had gotten to the door, peering at her over his shoulder.

From her place kneeled on the ground by her children, she stared at him, her eyes wide and her mouth opened mutely.

_Too frightened to speak,_ Sandor mused, an impatient frown creasing his brow. She was younger than he had thought, he noted now that he was taking his first good look at her. At least a decade younger than him, that was buggering given - yet here she was, raising three children, all of them in rags. She was a frail little thing – barely bigger than her brood - with pale brown hair, thin and lank under her nightcap.

"Is she dumb that woman of yours?" Sandor questioned the man, turning back his head to glance where the woman's husband stood in front of him.

"Oh no, ser!" the man hurried to reply, his lips twisted in something he probably hoped would pass for a smile. Wringing his hands nervously before him, he took a step back, clearly uncomfortable to be in Sandor's proximity. "She can speak alright, but this ain't usual for us, being woken in the middle of the night by strangers like this." This one was not old either. No more than a few years over his wife and so similar in looks, Sandor might have taken him for her brother. "Beth? We've something for the lady? D'we still have some of that broth you gave the children?"

At that, the woman – Beth he had called her – gulped and nodded. "Aye," she squeaked.

"Good then," Sandor replied. "I'll go check on our mounts while you heat it over your fire. First though, I'll bring in our bedrolls and covers so that you can tend to- to my wife while I'm gone. Make her as comfortable as you can," Sandor instructed them both before turning his back and stalking outside. He hated to leave the little bird vulnerable to those strangers but there was no way he could be everywhere at once.

After he'd ventured into the cold and wind again, Sandor handed Beth and her husband their things through the door. It was glacial and still snowing lightly and as he freed the horses from their saddles, fed and brushed them, he considered leading both beasts inside the house. Other animals already lived in it anyway, yet the entrance was too small for them and the place already crowded enough as it was. They would need to stay outside and hopefully not be frozen to death when Sandor and the little bird resumed their flight in a few hours. At least he had a couple of horse blankets and the cabin's roof overhead protected them from the worst of the weather.

When he returned inside again, a faint salty scent told him a cauldron had been put on the fire. A smelly and dark candle had been lit and settled on a low stool in a corner of the room, its thick smoke mingling with that of the fire. Both toddlers were sitting up and peeking at Sandor through filthy, tangled, blonde hair, their blanket pulled up to their chins. Their father was crouched by their side, murmuring inaudible words to them. As for Sansa, she had been placed on her bedroll and wrapped in the furs and covers he had brought for her. Her eyes were shut and she was breathing steadily, her features peaceful and lips slightly opened.

Beth was sitting on a low stool not far from her, tending to the fire with a long stick and holding her infant child in her other arm. As Sandor approached, she stiffened noticeably.

"You need not fear me, woman. I'm not going to hurt you or your children. I just want my wife to rest for a few hours," he hissed as he lowered himself to the floor next to the little bird. That wasn't really a lie, was it? While he had considered killing them, he had ended up rejecting the idea.

At his words, the woman flinched but nodded vigorously in spite of how unconvinced she may have seemed. The babe in her arms sensed her anxiety and, all of a sudden, it started wailing, its face contorted and red. For such a little thing, its cries were unexpectedly strong and high pitched, so much so that Sandor unwittingly recoiled from it.

"Shhh," the woman whispered, tossing her stick to the ground to rock it in her arms. When the babe didn't quiet, she opened her nightgown and stuffed her nipple into its mouth. That shut it up and it's little, plump arms stopped jerking to rest against its small torso.

In spite of himself, Sandor caught himself staring at the scene before him. Were he and Sansa _really_ to have a little creature like this one? It was hard to believe. In a mix of fascination and aversion, he watched as the child suckled at the woman's teat just as avidly as if it wished to suck in everything she had to offer at once. There wasn't much in there from what Sandor could see. Next to Sansa, she was as flat as a board. While they had not been small to begin with, the little bird's breasts had grown impressively throughout the few moons since he had gotten her with child. The girl didn't like it much – or so she pretended – but as for himself, Sandor was not about to complain and he was certain their child wouldn't either. There was a lot of milk in there to be sure and there was no doubting he would never grow hungry.

How old could that child in Beth's arms be? There was no way Sandor knew. While he had seen plenty of sucking babes in his years as Cersei's guard, he had never cared enough to take note. Besides, apart from Cersei's herself, the mothers had always kept their whelp as far from him as they could, same as if they dreaded he might taint them somehow. It had never bothered Sandor. To him, children so young were not of much interest and all looked pretty much the same for as long as they only crawled and couldn't speak properly.

Although naught had changed in that regard, the circumstances had in ways he could never have predicted but a half-year before. Sandor had never envisioned himself becoming a father, and it was disconcerting to ponder about it while observing Beth's babe drink thirstily at her breasts. How the fuck was he supposed to care for something so… so small and vulnerable once the little bird gave birth? _You'll just need to make sure the babe and Sansa are safe and well provided for, dog. That's all,_ he reminded himself._ The little bird will be the one caring for him, as mothers always do._ She may be young but the girl's motherly instinct were strong, that was already clear enough. She would know what to do and he'd only need to be there and support her.

"Ser, is the lady all right? Want my husband to fetch a midwife for her?" Beth asked, breaking into his reflection.

She was blushing, he realised as he raised his gaze to her. Sandor frowned and averted his eyes. It was true he had been staring at her teats a bit intently for a moment now.

Surprisingly, although he had been certain she was well asleep by now, Sansa answered even before he had time to think of a reply. "I'm fine, just very tired and cold," she whispered, her voice weak. "Thank you. I'll be giving birth in a little over two moons. There's no need for a midwife so soon."

"In two moons? Are you sure?" the woman insisted, obviously a bit taken aback.

"She knows better than you do," Sandor retorted testily. "And you, little bird, go back to sleep," he berated her.

"I was never big like that, even before labour," Beth pointed out, a puzzled expression across her face.

"It's obvious looking at you. You're no bigger than a bloody twig," Sandor spat, scowling at her from under his scarf. Shutting his eyes, he threw his head back. He was so very tired and even getting dizzy, but it would pass. He only had to stay still for an instant.

Either oblivious to his tone or too stupid to realise she'd do well to keep her mouth shut, Beth continued, "If what you say is true, this is going to be a difficult-"

"Beth, please-" her husband interjected, but Sandor cut them both off before he could finish.

"Is the broth ready yet?" he asked impatiently, pinning the woman with a hard glare. "That's all we're asking from you. That and your fire and roof. Your thoughts and advice, keep to yourself. You'll be richer of a silver stag comes dawn, understood?"

"'Course ser," Beth's husband hurried to respond. As he spoke, he left the two toddlers to hop to his wife, whispering what sounded like rebukes in her ear. Even as the woman listened sheepishly, one of the toddlers started to whimper. The other joined in almost instantly and both parents glanced back at them worryingly.

"Seven Hells… don't you see my woman needs silence? Keep your bloody children quiet for her sake, by the damned Stranger!" Sandor growled, his head pounding violently. The sound of the brats' wails resounded in his eardrums just as loudly as the great Sept of Baelor's blasted bells on a wedding day.

"Sandor…" the little bird murmured, shifting in the covers to look up at him. "I don't mind… ours will cry too…"

"Shh, quiet, little bird," he admonished her at once, his eyes full of reproach. She shouldn't have spoken his name aloud as she had.

The girl's lips opened in a small 'o'. "I'm sorry," she mouthed. "Did… did they hear?" she whispered with obvious concern.

Sighing heavily, Sandor shook his head. Both Beth and her husband were too busy lulling their children for that. "It's fine, little bird. Forget about it." Then, remembering what she had last said, he told her: "Ours will cry as well, that's true enough. Yet, be sure you'll want him to shut up too sometimes. Nothing wrong in asking for silence when it's needed."

He almost didn't notice Beth's husband as he arrived by their side, bringing with him a mug filled with broth. The man's hands were trembling as Sandor took it from him.

"Try to sit up a bit, little bird. This will do you some good."

In the end, Sandor had to lift Sansa's head and lean it against his lap to help her drink. She sipped the mug's content in a few minutes, keeping her half-lidded eyes locked with his. When she was done, she shut them and seemed to doze off almost the very instant Sandor laid her back onto her bedroll.

Gasps could be heard coming from the other side of the fire, but apart from that all the children were finally quiet. Both parents had rejoined their brood and were getting ready to sleep.

Sensing his stare on him, Beth's husband spoke. "If you don't need us anymore, ser and lady, we'll all go back to bed now if you don't mind."

"Of course," Sandor agreed gruffly.

With that, the man put out the candle he had lit earlier, the dim room becoming even darker, and both he and his wife reclined over their makeshift beds.

By Sandor's side, Sansa had fallen deeply into slumber. He could tell, knew her well enough to read her like a book by now. _Good. That's why we've stopped here in the first place after all. So that she could rest._ While that was true, Sandor still found himself cursing his situation. As far as he was concerned, he'd have fared better had they continued till they had arrived at their destination. Being in the thick of it and so focused on his goal had made it easy for him to ignore his own discomfort. Now that he'd been forced to pause though, he found himself longing for a few hours of sleep just as much as a dying man for the gods' mercy. However, it was impossible that he give in to it, not if he wished to keep an eye on his hosts. There was no way he could trust these people. He didn't know them. Didn't even know the man's bloody given name by the Seven.

That Sansa and he looked suspicious was a buggering given. Even if Beth and her husband had not heard the rumours, they were still too conspicuous a duo not to raise curiosity, the little bird being such a delicate and beautiful little thing and he looking like a hideous ogre next to her. As the girl had suggested before they entered, Sandor had still not removed his scarf from over his face. Revealing his scars would be as good as introducing himself after all, yet to conceal them was almost just as damning, for anyone who'd keep their features hidden under a scarf inside the shelter of a house couldn't very well appear trustworthy.

Sandor needed to watch over Sansa as she slept, to make sure she was doing well. That crisis she had suffered earlier in the evening after she had fallen from the saddle had well and truly scared him and though it seemed to have passed, one could never rest assured with such matters. I spite of what he had told Beth, Sandor did fear that the babe would come early. These were far from ideal conditions for a woman in her state. After less than seven moons, neither the babe nor Sansa could be ready. If the worst came to happen… well fuck, he didn't even want to start considering it. He remembered all too well what Githa had told him the afternoon before they left the farm. About the dangers the little bird would face. And Sandor, for all his claims that he didn't care for a bloody thing in this world… well he did care about something, at least. He cared for _her_. He couldn't envision his life without her.

_I'll not sleep._ While he was as spent as can be, when Sandor was adamant about something he always did it, no matter how much it cost him. And so he'd stay alert for what remained of the night and wouldn't rest until they reached White Harbour and had boarded a ship - if there were any ships available once they got there, that was. But that was no option either. There _would_ be ships because otherwise, he might very well be dead already and not know it.

* * *

_Keep your eyes open. Keep them fucking open, _Sandor kept repeating to himself, over and over again. It was like a chant in a way. A very monotonous one, similar to those military songs some men liked to strike up as they headed to war. There was no battle ahead for Sandor, or so he hoped, but that he stayed awake was just as vital. Therefore as the little bird breathed softly against him, he recited the words in his head as he struggled against the heaviness of his eyelids.

In order to keep Sansa as warm he could, Sandor had gotten under the furs with her. He had put himself against her back and wrapped his arms around her. He knew that making sure she was not cold and that she rested as peacefully as possible was of the utmost importance. But to put himself in such a position was near suicidal. He was beyond fatigued after having laboured through the snow for more than a day and not sleeping for nearly two. It was a true torture to be lying by his woman, warm and comfortable near a fire, and try to remain vigilant, but he would not give in to the temptation of shutting his eyes and letting go. It was simply no fucking option.

By the other side of the fire, the family was sleeping, all snuggled against each other. Or so they pretended. Sandor knew it to be a lie. One of them was wakeful, he could tell by the unevenness of the breathing he heard. He needed to keep his wits about him to watch over them. To stay in control of the situation. He would not doze off. Could not and _would not_.

* * *

It was the sound of a crow cawing outside that first roused him, that and the beam of light that entered through the dirty hide window and fell across his face. Same as if he had been hit by lighting, Sandor sat up at once, his eyes already wide opened.

"Shit!" he let out, his voice loud and hoarse.

The little bird shook against him and moaned in complaint at his sudden withdrawal.

"Sandor?" she called quietly.

He ignored her, too preoccupied and furious at himself to pay her any attention. "Fuck!" he cursed instead. Seven Hells but this was a bloody disaster! He'd fucking slumbered and, judging by the strength of the light that passed through the tiny windows, it was nearing midmorning by now! How fucking weak he had been to let his guard down and allow this to happen. His heart racing in his chest, he rubbed a hand over his face, threw the blankets away from his lap, and stood up.

"What is it?" the little bird asked sleepily.

"I've slept! Seven Hells, we need to go. _Now_!" Casting his gaze over the floor to find his things, Sandor remembered he had not removed any of his clothes before he joined Sansa under the blankets. He had kept his cloak, boots, and even his chain mail shirt and sword belt on. With a hand, he felt the hilt of his sword to make sure it was still well in place, breathing in deeply.

"Go?... but where?... oh…" Sansa said as she slowly came back to her and remembered where they were at. "Is it late?"

"Too much, yes," Sandor answered, looking around the room. Beth was sitting on her stool, not far from the fire, and apparently trying to make herself as small as she could. Her infant was in a makeshift cradle right next to her and the other children were in the farthest corner of the room from him, one of them holding a clucking chicken in his arm. They all seemed utterly horrified to see him awake. They'd probably hoped he'd never rouse at all.

"Why didn't you wake me up, woman? You knew I intended to be off at dawn." His eyes narrowed at her, Sandor took a step forward. As he did, he raked his gaze over the woman's home again, the pace of his pulse hastening. Where was the bloody husband?

"Your husband? He's not here?" he demanded sharply.

The woman only gaped, her eyes wide with fear and lowered to the floor.

"Speak, you damned woman!" Sandor snarled. As he did, one of the children let out a whimper and the chicken in his arms clucked louder, flapping its wings uselessly.

"N… no… he went outside to… to-"

"To what?" His gaze pinned on her, Sandor took another step forward. The second chicken was walking in between him and the woman, bobbing its head stupidly, but it scurried away as Sandor approached.

"He… he needed to gather firewood," she replied, looking down at where her hands laid stiffly over her lap.

"Where did he go? Can I find him quickly?"

"I… I don't think so," the woman squeaked, already panic-stricken. "He goes far sometimes, he could be at least an hour from here!"

"To gather firewood? You bloody liar. There's wood aplenty all around this puny house of yours," Sandor hissed, closing the gap between them in less than a heartbeat. "Look at me! Tell me where the fuck he went!"

The woman flinched away from him as much as she could over her stool, her eyes still averted and gleaming with fright. "I… I'm not lying! He… he…" she hesitated for a second or two, before hurrying to add: "He has snares set all over the forest! That's why he needs to go far sometimes!" By her side in its cradle, the infant started to bawl, which made Sandor's mouth twitch.

"Changing your story now, huh? No use. I can tell you're lying. Can smell it."

"I'm not! I swear it!"

"Then why the fuck are you looking away like this?!" Bending over, he grasped her by the collar of her dress and lifted her to her feet. She did finally meet his gaze. Her eyes growing even wider, she gasped, same as if she had seen a ghost.

For a heartbeat, Sandor was perplexed by her reaction, yet he shortly realised his scarf had fallen over his chest in his sleep. His ugly face was now completely uncovered. Once more, he cursed himself for being so careless and growled out loudly in frustration. He was bloody stupid and the notion of it filled him with so much self-hatred that he momentarily found himself dumbstruck.

"Sandor! Leave the poor woman alone!" the little bird cried out from her place, sitting up over her bedroll.

Sandor didn't answer, keeping his attention on the woman before him. By the look of her, it was obvious she knew who he was, yet chances were high she had already guessed it even before setting eyes on those damned scars of his. Glaring down at her, he readjusted his hold on her collar.

"Don't like what you see, don't you? It's not too pretty, I'll give you that. Still, no reason to be such a bad host as your husband and disappear without a word in the middle of the bloody night. Shouldn't he have said his farewells before he left, knowing we'd be gone before he came back, huh?" His features twisting into a deep snarl, Sandor lowered his face so near the woman's that he could smell the garlic on her breath. "He knew me, didn't he? Knew what my scarf was for and thought to play the hero by-"

"No! It's not true!

Out the corner of his eyes, Sandor could see the little bird rising to her feet and running to him. "Please! Sandor! Stop it!"

All three children were crying now. Gods, Sandor was starting to have a headache again. "Damned you, woman! Will you-"

"Sandor! Sandor, listen to me! She may very well be telling the truth! Leave her alone!" Sansa begged him from where she now stood just a yard or so behind him.

"Why should I believe her?" he replied, all the while keeping his eyes on Beth. "Deception is written all over this, little bird. Don't you see? You don't sneak out in the dark of night like a thief unless you're up to something risky and don't want to get caught."

"I swear it's not the case!" Beth retorted, her voice stronger than before in spite of how she was trembling in Sandor's grasp. Sansa's support had probably lent her courage. "My husband knows nothing!" she all but screamed, her voice strident in Sandor's ears and making him cringe.

"Well _you_ do now, don't you?" he snapped at her, his eyes narrowed and glowering. "I should kill you while there is still time and then, go after your fucking husband."

"Oh, Sandor! NO!" Sansa yelled in horror, hurling herself at his back so heavily that he almost lost his balance and dropped Beth. He could feel her rounded belly between them even as her little hands clutched at his cloak, trying to yank him away with more strength than he knew she had. "Don't hurt her or her children! Don't do it or else, I'll run from you and hide in the forest! I'd rather die in the cold than follow you if you were to kill these poor people!"

Straightening his back, Sandor turned his neck to glance at the little bird. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of dismay and anger and there was a very determined air about her, he saw as he met her stare. She genuinely appeared to mean what she'd said and the idea that she might actually act it all out made Sandor's blood run cold.

While he had spoken his threat to Beth on a whim, in the end he knew his instinct to be right. He couldn't leave any witness of their passage behind, yet there was no doubting convincing Sansa he was right would prove quite a challenge.

"Gods, little bird. Don't say things like that," he scolded her. "The babe. Have you forgotten about him? Want him to die with you out there?"

Though she didn't loosen her hold on him, the little bird became as motionless as a statue. The very notion that she might hurt their child in any way was unbearable to her and Sandor was well aware of it.

"Think about it, Sansa," he insisted. "The bloody man has slipped away without a word long before daybreak! The whole family was laying low when we woke in hope that we'd sleep till noon and not notice the bastard's absence. Can you trust people like that?"

As he spoke, Sandor loosened his hold on Beth. The woman, perched atop her tiptoes under the force of his grasp, fell down on her knees at once. Letting out a sob, she all but crawled to the cradle before gathering her baby in her arms and rushing to the corner of the room to rejoin her other children.

Sandor barely glanced her way. With his hands, he found Sansa's little paws and removed them from where they were still gripping his cloak. She didn't give him any resistance and he easily turned around to face her completely, placing both of his hands over her shoulders.

"Sansa, just listen to me for a moment," he urged lowly, looking intently into her eyes. Her eyelashes and cheeks were wet with tears and she seemed utterly lost and broken. She was out of her comfort zone to be sure and that would be an issue here.

Though the little bird may have gone through many hardships since she'd left Winterfell all those years ago, she was still surprisingly naive in many ways. Somehow, she had never ceased believing the world to be a fair place. She did not understand how some people unfailingly needed to perish for the sake of others, no matter that they did not deserve it. That was the way of life and there was no escaping it. Even herself, she had benefited from the demise of innocents through the wars her father and forefathers had fought, though the thought of it had most likely never crossed her mind. And now Sandor only had a few seconds to make her understand...

"I told you that stopping here was a bad idea. That I might need to kill in order to keep our passage through these parts a secret," he started, gazing down at her gravely. "Believe me, it's not that I crave for blood but - for fuck's sake, Sansa! - I can't perform miracles. If I wish for us to make it to White Harbour unnoticed and then, get the Hells out of this blasted continent, well it's not like there are many ways I can achieve that. Killing helpless people has never given me any buggering pleasure or satisfaction, but I need be pragmatic. Otherwise, our chances of making it to Essos will be more than thin. Want your brother and mother to see you like this?" he asked, nodding at her bulging stomach.

Beth had her arms wrapped around her children and was crying quietly. "My babies! Don't hurt them! They've done nothing! _Nothing_!"

Peeking at the woman over his shoulder, Sandor was about to bid her to shut up when Sansa spoke.

"Oh, Sandor! You know I don't want my family to learn of my state!" she exclaimed, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "Yet there's no way I'll ever agree to the murder of this poor family! The guilt would be too much for me to bear! I'd rather the whole North hear of my disgrace instead and see me as big as I am with your bastard than be responsible for something so horrible! My family and I will survive the shame. At least we won't die, unlike Beth and her children if I let you have your way."

Sandor let out a deep breath at that. Studying her in silence, he clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times, his heart hammering in his chest. Things were not going well at all for him, but words had never been his strength. He didn't know how to get his thoughts across and he didn't have time to figure it out just now either. _Best not to beat around the bush,_ he surmised eventually.

"Little bird, if your brother finds us, he'll have me executed - or more likely, _do it himself_. You realise that, do you?" he whispered to her, feeling strangely uneasy to use his own mortality as leverage.

From reproving, the little bird's eyes became distantly sad. Distress written all over her pretty face, she bit at her lip, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Yes, I do know it," she answered, sniffing. "And I don't want you to die, Sandor, but there must be another solution to this predicament than senseless slaughter!" She hesitated then and craned her neck as much as she could to gaze up at him pleadingly. "Perhaps… perhaps you could leave me here and head to White Harbour on your own instead? If you're right and Beth's husband has indeed gone away to signal our presence to whoever might be looking for us, then mayhap once I'm found safe and sound no one will try to track you down. You would be faster without me and less conspicuous. I'm convinced you could escape if you were alone and-"

"_Gods! _Have you lost your damned mind, little bird?! Don't be bloody stupid, you're coming _with me_! I'm not leaving you here, by the Seven Buggering Hells!" Sandor rasped at her from between gritted teeth. Her suggestion had angered him so much that he stopped thinking for the briefest instant and tightened his fingers around her shoulders without realising it. The little bird let out a yelp and he loosened his grip at once.

"If you won't leave me, then let's go from this place _right away_! I am ready," she pressed him, lifting her hands to the front of his chain mail shirt to clutch at it. Her anguish giving way to defiance in a split second, she narrowed her eyes to glare up at him. "But I'll follow you only if you don't hurt anyone!" she warned, her voice high-pitched just as it always got when she was just about to cry, yet sharp with resolve. "Otherwise, I'll run from you! And if you manage to catch me, I'll fight you and scream all the way to White Harbour! And I'll never talk to you again! Never let you touch me and never look at you with anything but disgust!" Sansa half-yelled, half-sobbed, pulling and pushing at his chest as hard as she could to punctuate each word.

The girl's outburst rendered Sandor utterly speechless and for a moment, he was too taken aback to react. Keeping his hands on her shoulders, he stared down at her with wide, burning eyes. Sansa had calmed down now, though she was quivering and weeping quietly, her brow furrowed. She was such a feeble little thing under his hands. The fact that one as defenseless as her could just have so completely knocked him down was certainly absurd. Still, there was no denying that she had gotten to him. Sandor had received countless blows throughout his life, but none had ever stung so much as to see hate shine even for an instant in the little bird's eyes.

Everything was going awry, and quickly at that. It was as plain as the burns on his face that the girl was not kidding, that she would resist him every step of the way if he didn't reconsider. She was too sensitive next to his pragmatism and he would never succeed in swaying her to his view – or at least, not in the short time they had just now. Perhaps one day, once she was older and wiser and had seen more of the world and its injustice, she would understand his logic, yet for now Sandor would have to give in to her. It was that or putting out for good the trust and affection Sansa had so very slowly developed for him over the many long moons since the beginning of their journey. For as much as he'd have rather proceed how his instinct drove him, there would be no bloodshed in the end. It was that or losing one of the sole things strength could never get him back.

"Alright, little bird. Quiet now. I won't do it," he muttered in a harsh tone that didn't translate how distraught he truly felt. "Gather our things, we're going. I'll prepare the horses in the meantime. I want us to be off in a few minutes at the most."

At that, the little bird shut her eyes with blatant relief and leaned onto his torso. "Oh Seven, thank you," she whispered, the words clearly not meant for him.

"Hurry up, little bird," he urged her, easing her away from him as carefully as he could. "Heard what I've just said?"

Her eyes downcast and features sullen, Sansa nodded and headed away from him. She kneeled by her bedroll with her back to him and started gathering their things. Sandor watched her, oddly unsure what to do with himself for an instant. Beth was still crying, had been all along though he had only just grown aware of it. Sighing deeply, he frowned and stalked to the door.

From the moment he stepped outside, Sandor was welcomed by a strong squall. While there was not a cloud in the sky, the cold bit as he hurried to adjust his scarf around his neck and slide his hands into his gloves. The horses were alive, and apparently not doing too badly seeing how they both had enough spirit left to snort at him resentfully for having abandoned them outside in the elements. Things could have been worse, Sandor reasoned. He shook his head, unconvinced.

_It's better this way. Killing the woman would not have been wise. Not in these circumstances at least,_ he tried again after a moment, as he swiftly prepared Stranger and Sansa's mare. For it to be worth anything, he'd need to slay the man too. It was he who had secretly fled into the night after all. Yet there was no buggering way he'd ever leave the little bird alone in this poxy cottage with Beth's corpse – especially not after all the treats she'd made him – and he couldn't bring her along on his hunt either if he wished to move fast enough.

On the other hand, if the man had taken the main road and headed to White Harbour, well they would end up meeting him on their way, wouldn't they? Sandor wasn't sure what he'd do with him in that case. Mayhap tie him to a tree. In the meantime though, he would need to be fast – perhaps even go astride Stranger despite the thickness of the snow - so as to catch up with Beth's husband before he had a chance to reach White Harbour. Otherwise, Sandor might very well end up walking straight into the lion's den – or,more likely, _the wolf's den._ He let out a snort as bitter as the wind at that. Now then, he'd be fucked for real.

_Should've sliced their throats last night as the little bird slumbered. I could've concealed their corpses under blankets and tell Sansa they were sleeping._ If he could go back in time, that's what Sandor would have done. Or, even better yet, he'd go back to when they were still travelling on the _Travelling Titan_ and convince the little bird they should continue with it to Braavos. Not doing so was perhaps the biggest mistake he'd ever made and he would never forgive himself for it.

When he entered the house again, Sansa was kneeling by Beth's side and speaking softly to her, probably apologising for Sandor's behaviour.

"Is everything packed?" he asked her more dryly than he had intended.

Turning her gaze toward him, the little bird nodded but the look in her eyes was uncharacteristically cold.

"Little bird, come now," Sandor rasped, his scowl deepening.

Taking care not to hurt her, he stooped and helped her up to her feet with a hand around her upper arm. The girl didn't resist and let him do it, yet from the moment she was up, she snatched her arm from his hold and walked away from him as fast as if had had Greyscale.

The corner of his mouth twitching in response, Sandor glowered at her and picked up the bundles Sansa had prepared from the floor. Once he had everything in his arms, he nodded toward the door. "Out!" he ordered her.

The little bird obeyed and headed outside in silence. Although Sandor saw her frame tense at the drop in temperature, she didn't utter a word of complaint as she left the warmth of the house. Though she didn't fight against him as he raised her over Stranger's back either, she was as stiff as a block of ice under his hands.

"I didn't kill them, Sansa, even though it might have been a good idea," he reminded her, gazing at her with resentment. "I'd have done it from the minute we entered the house, if it wasn't for you. You've no reason to be so mad at me by the bloody Stranger! You've gotten what you wanted, didn't you?"

The girl flinched at hearing his claim and looked away from him, her brow knitted in a mix of exasperation and dejection. "Oh, Sandor… you… you really do not understand a thing!" she reproached desperately.

Frowning, Sandor brusquely pulled away from her, yet he decided to keep his retort to himself and let the matter rest for the time being. They needed to get the hells out of these bloody parts without delay, for they hadn't even a second to waste. They'd have days on end to chat and make up once they were on a ship to Essos anyhow. It could wait.

Therefore, his humour darker than ever, Sandor seized the reins of both his stallion and Sansa's mare and started them off through the snow. As he left the range of the house with the horses in tow, he noticed Beth's husband's steps in the snow and saw they did not lead to the road as he was convinced they would but to a trail which headed into the woods. For a brief instant, Sandor felt something akin to hope rouse in him. Perhaps Beth had indeed spoken the truth, that her husband had gone to fetch firewood and check on his snares. Yet he shortly shook himself and thought better of it. There was no knowing whether or not there was some lost village or farm in the direction the man had taken after all. No matter how much it might be tempting to do otherwise, expecting the worst was always wisest, for hope was a poison one did well never to indulge, especially in a situation as precarious as his. All a man could ever truly rely upon was his own sweat and blood, and so as Sandor walked away from the poxy little house, he kept his mind on his goal and readied himself for what may come.


	17. Chapter 17

_After two whole years of working on this story almost daily, this grand adventure is now coming to an end. I have to admit it's making me sad to leave this universe, but nothing can last forever of course. A million thanks to everyone who followed this story from its beginning and also, to those who joined in later on. Thank you to all the readers and commenters! You kept me going and gave me a lot of motivation!_

_This chapter as well as the epilogue was betaed by Ukcatlawyer and I'd like to thank her for that. She was the last beta to help me with this story and her generosity in volunteering in spite of her crazy schedule was always super appreciated._

_I'd like to thank Leighofoldstones as well for having betaed this story from chapter 6 to 14. Her enthusiasm for this story was a real joy for me._

_And finally, I'd like to thanks kimberlite who betaed the first 5 chapters of this story and without who this story would most likely never have been written. She was there from the conception of this fic and encouraged me to write it when I was still hesitating whether or not it was a good idea. She remained my adviser till the very end and I always turned to her whenever I wasn't sure about something._

_Again, THANKS EVERYONE! Now go ahead and read!_

* * *

Though she'd have kept on sleeping much longer had it been possible, the few hours of rest Sansa had gotten in Beth and her family's cabin had done her some good. She no longer had to fight to keep her eyes open and felt steadier on her saddle, which was certainly reassuring after her fall yesterday evening. As often was the case on the coldest days of winter, the sky was clear of any clouds and as blue as could be. Nevertheless, violent gusts of wind sporadically swept through the forest and lifted into the air bits of the thick, powdery snow, which covered the ground. Whenever this happened, the world around her became completely white for a second or two and Sansa would have to squint and shield her eyes with a hand in order to protect them.

As they had done on the previous day, Sansa rode astride Stranger as Sandor walked just ahead of her, holding both of their mounts' reins in hand. They had not spoken since they'd left the cabin a few hours before, if one didn't count the couple of mumbled words they had exchanged when the Hound had handed her a piece of dried meat with some bread earlier on. Sansa was so very mad at him. At moments she considered never addressing him again – or, at least, not until they reached White Harbour. While she wasn't convinced she had it in her to remain silent for so long, she knew naught would aggravate Sandor as much as her muteness and thus it was worth trying.

The mere idea of what had almost happened this morning was enough to make Sansa fear she might be sick in the snow, same as she had so often been around the time she learned she was with child. If it had not been for her opposition, the Hound would have slaughtered a whole family and left their unburied corpses behind for scavengers to eat, no more bothered than after having hunted down a hare for diner.

Sansa had always known Sandor to be harsh and merciless. He had never lied to her about it, and she'd witnessed just how skilled and efficient at the art of killing he was on many occasions. Prior to this morning, however, the full scale of his ruthlessness had somehow evaded her. Perhaps a bit naively, she had believed his pretence of having no moral qualms about slaying men, women and children alike to be no more than a show he put on to intimidate her. The presumption had been easy to maintain for as long as the only deaths he claimed in her presence had been that of those who had attacked her and deserved their fate, but it wasn't so much anymore after the brutal reality check she'd had this morning.

While Sandor had ended up agreeing to keep his sword sheathed, his reluctance to do so had been obvious. Even now as they progressed along the small, snow covered lane, Sansa could still sense frustration oozing from him and the notion of it fed her own annoyance.

_He has no reason to be resentful toward me, _Sansa reflected bitterly. She was not at fault where their situation was concerned. To the contrary, it was _he_ who was at the root of this plight they were embed in and to blame her because she had stopped him from taking the most abhorrent way out was ludicrous! They'd never have come to that if it weren't for his actions. The Hound was responsible for every single ordeal they'd gone through since their departure from King's Landing, and Sansa wished he would look himself in the mirror for once and admit to it.

They continued in the same awkward silence for a while, however, at one point, the baby moved in Sansa's womb. Once more, she found herself worrying for him. These were not sound conditions for an unborn babe to grow. Shifting in her saddle, she touched her belly with her hand. It almost hurt to do so for as much as her bladder was full. She winced, squirming in place. She had tried to ignore her building urge for a moment already, seeing that she did not wish to speak to the Hound, but there was no way she could much longer, uncomfortable as she was. In spite of how much she'd have rather keep her mouth shut until they boarded a ship, she resigned herself to abandoning that idea.

"Sandor," she called dryly. "Sandor, I have to make water."

Halting in his walk, the man turned to look at her. It was so cold that Sansa could see his breath coming out of his mouth and nostril. He seemed irritated, as if he had expected her not to need to go until they reached the city. "Alright," he spat, dropping both the horses' reins to walk to her. "But we're stopping only for an instant."

A relatively soft wind was blowing over the woods, the appearance of white smoke drifting inches over the snowy ground. The strands of hair that came out of the Hound's hood wagged lazily against his stubble covered cheeks. He had his hood up but his scarf did not cover his face and was down to his chin.

Circling his large hands around her waist, he helped Sansa down Stranger's back. She let him do it, it would have been nearly impossible for her to descend without him given how bulky she had gotten. Still from the moment her feet touched the ground, she tore herself free from his clutches and swirled away from him without even sparing him a glance. The snow was deep and it was hard for her to walk and so she halted after only a few steps.

"Turn around, please. I don't want you watching," Sansa demanded of Sandor, glaring at him over her shoulder.

Though his mouth twitched, he did as she had asked without uttering a word, the motion unusually sluggish.

As soon as his imposing back was at last facing her, Sansa crouched and did what she had to. Once she was finished, she stood up and took a careful step away before kicking some snow over the trace she had left. She took another step all the while distractedly eyeing the road ahead of them. She was smoothing her skirt when to her surprise, the Hound spoke.

"Don't be so cold with me, Sansa. I can't stand it," he rasped, the flat reproach in his voice mingling with a rawness she wasn't used to hearing coming from him.

Sansa watched him for a moment, unsure what she should think. _I've no reason to feel guilty!_ she reasoned after an instant of confusion. He had sounded so genuine and, while she had no doubt he had been indeed, it was simply illogical that she be the one feeling remorse. She was not being undeservedly mean to him. She had every reason to be cold!

"If I had not interfered, Sandor, you'd have killed them! The mother and her children as well!" Sansa exclaimed, as much a rebuke to him as a reminder to herself that she couldn't let him soften her so easily.

Turning around, Sandor fixed on her with a hard stare but said nothing. All around him, the white blanket of snow glistened brightly under the sunlight, so much so that it made it hard for her to keep her eyes fully opened.

"You would have done it! You can't deny it!" Sansa stated, closing her fur cloak around herself and stepping back. She was shivering, but whether it was from the cold or the memory of what had almost played out this morning, she wasn't certain.

Though there was undeniable tension in his jaw, Sandor's countenance was an unreadable mask as he contemplated her. "I am not denying it, little bird. You're saying the truth, but in the end I did not do it. Because _you_ asked me to. Isn't that enough for you?" he hissed, taking a stride toward her. A thin trail of compacted snow had been created by previous travellers at the centre of the road where he stood, yet loose snow still covered his booted feet and rose a bit higher than his ankles. Powdery snow was smeared up to his knees and the bottom third of his cloak was caked with it. "What more do you want from me?" he continued, clearly at a lost. "You've got me under your bloody thumb, by the buggering Stranger! I'd do anything for you; I don't care how pathetic that sounds."

"_Under your thumb?_" Sansa repeated in disbelief, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. "Do you truly believe so?"

Sandor cocked his head and furrowed his brow, his mouth twitching again, as if he didn't quite understand what she thought was so funny. "I've never let any woman tell me what to do before. You're the first," he informed her nonchalantly.

The fact that he so obviously meant what he was telling her was somewhat vexing to Sansa. It was maddening even! To hear him speak, it was _she_ who was in control in their relationship. Sansa shook her head in frustration. "Oh, Sandor! You… Oh! Don't lie, you listened to Cersei!" she pointed out, as the remembrance hit her, eager to prove to him how his assertion didn't hold up.

"She's the bloody queen!" the Hound replied, rolling his eyes as if she was being ridiculous. "How the fuck could I not follow her royal orders?" Then, he snorted and narrowed his eyes on Sansa. "And anyhow, in the end she's always been more a symbol of power than a woman as far as I'm concerned. And I'd let her die in an instant if I had a choice between saving her or you, be sure about that."

"Because I'm expecting your child and let you bed me," Sansa filled in for him, surprised by the hurt she heard in her voice.

A weak half-smile played on the Hound's lips at that. "Yes, but that's only a part of it, Sansa, and you know it." With that, he closed the gap between them and slid both his hands around her now thick waist.

"Know it?" she repeated, pushing her mitten covered hands against his torso to keep her distances from him as much as she could. "What I know is that you've been carrying me around all across Westeros for the last seven moons without ever giving me a choice about it!" she let out in a mix of exasperation and anger. "You should've left me at Beth's house as I suggested. It makes no sense for you to bring me along this time around - not if people are looking for us as you think. I'm already in the North and only a few weeks ride from Winterfell. You'd know I'd be safe!"

A scowl forming on his face, the man exhaled loudly. "I told you already it was out of the question. I'm not leaving you here!" he growled, yanking her closer against him.

"But once the baby is born, coming back to Westeros will be just as risky for you! Perhaps even more so!" Sansa reminded him, squirming in his hold. In a move to free herself from him, she lowered both of her palms over his hands and pulled at them as hard as she could. He was too strong of course and she swiftly quit trying, though she kept her hands clamped over his wrists. Gazing up at him, she added, her chin held high and expression stern, "In the end, you'll have to let me take the ship back to White Harbour alone after I've given birth, or else you'll risk being captured from the moment we disembark and-"

"Seven Hells, little bird! Don't waste your time worrying about this! We'll have time enough to figure it all out as we wait for your labour to come," he cut her dismissively. By the tone he used, it was easy to tell that no matter how valid the arguments she raised might be, he would never heed them. It felt as if he had it all figured out but didn't care to share his plan with her. Once more, he was keeping the whole truth from her, it was easy to tell.

For a while already, Sansa had had suspicions concerning Sandor's intentions, and although she had tried not to ponder about it too much, there was no way she could turn a blind eye on her doubts anymore. She had to confront him about them once and for all.

"You… you don't intend to bring me back to my family, don't you?" she breathed, her stare fixed on him gravely. "You want to keep me for yourself."

The Hound's massive muscles tensed slightly around her but apart from that, he barely reacted. All he did was watch her in silence, his features set stonily.

"Oh, Sandor! You've been lying to me!" Sansa cried out, equally wounded and aghast even though, deep down, she had already known. Tears were pearling in her eyes and blurring her vision.

At that same instant, the wind rose, blinding her well and truly for a second or two. In order to shield herself from the blast, Sansa lowered her head against Sandor's chest and the latter raised a hand to the nape of her neck in a protective gesture. When the gust quelled a few seconds later, Sansa straightened her back and recoiled from him as much as she could in her position. The Hound loosened his hands from around her and the girl used the occasion to shake herself out of his clutches and take a step back. This time, he let her do it and lowered his hands to his sides.

While the burnt corner of his mouth twitched in annoyance, there was a hint of regret shining in his dark, grey eyes. "Had no choice," he murmured hoarsely. "I thought it better to wait to tell you."

"To wait? Until when?" Sansa asked, something akin to rage rousing in her.

Sandor took a moment to consider his answer, his jaw clenching and unclenching. "Once we got on the ship, probably," he let out quietly.

"Probably? Because you might have waited even longer? Oh, Sandor! You never care to ask me about anything! You just do as you wish and-"

"Don't tell me you'd have wanted to abandon the babe, I won't believe you," he cut her, his voice much sharper. "If you stay with me you'll get to be a mother to him in truth and raise him. It'll be the best outcome for everyone."

"You most of all!" Sansa bit back.

"Yes. You're right about that," Sandor admitted lowly, tilting his head to the side. "I'm not being selfless here. I'll be getting what I want. I know you're better than I deserve but I don't care and I won't let what's right or not stop me from getting my end. I want you to be my woman. For good. Why wouldn't I? You're perfect as far as I'm concerned."

"But have you ever wondered about what _I_ wanted?" Sansa replied in outrage. "Does it even matter to you?" As she spoke, she took another step back. She lost her footing and staggered backward, snow crushing softly under her foot, yet Sandor seized her by the upper arms to keep her from falling and tugged her to him.

"Careful now, little bird. Don't hurt yourself," he scolded her as he readjusted his grip and approached her. "And don't talk nonsense either. You know we're suited for each other," he told her, gazing at her intently. "Would you really want to marry another man?"

"I… I don't know," she answered truthfully, averting her eyes from him in something like shame. Then as if to correct herself, she added: "I don't know that we're suited for each other at all!"

"And why would you say that?" Sandor snapped. With a curled forefinger under her chin, he lifted it until she met his eyes again. "We've been living as husband and wife for many moons now and getting along just fine."

"Only for as long as you get your way," Sansa rejoined in a harsh whisper, glaring at him from under her eyelashes.

"But it hasn't gone much against yours lately, has it?" he indicated, moving his hands from under her chin to stroke her cheek with his knuckle. "I know you've been enjoying yourself in bed just as much as me for a while now. Don't delude yourself thinking this is common with women."

"As if it was all that mattered!" Sansa exclaimed, jerking her head back to avoid his touch. "You didn't give me much choice to begin with! You… you…"

"Who cares how it started?" he said, closing his hand more tightly around her upper arm and lowering his face near hers. "What matters is where _we are_. Foul beginnings can have fair endings and now-"

Utterly appalled that he could so easily discount one of the most traumatic events of her life, Sansa interrupted him at once. "Oh! Sandor! I _do_ care about how it started! You… you…" She inhaled deeply, unsure she had the courage to say it aloud since she never had before, but then she did and there was no coming back afterwards. "You_ raped _me! Oh, you did! _You raped me!_" Sansa shouted at the top of her lungs, her voice echoing in the frozen forest.

Sandor seemed a bit taken aback, his eyes rounded and mouth twitching, and she took the opportunity to shove her hands as hard as she could at his chest and shoulder herself free from his grasp. He teetered backward and removed his hands from her, too dumbfounded to oppose.

"I told you I didn't want to – I tried to push you back, screamed and even bit you, but you didn't care!" Sansa kept on yelling at him, her whole body taut and shaking. "You threw me to the ground! You took me! And you did it again later on that same night. Raped me again! You did it over and over throughout the few weeks that followed, until I grew to like it. But then again, I had no choice! It was never _my choice_!"

When she finished screaming, Sansa was totally out of breath. While she felt somewhat relieved to have finally put into words the long unspoken truth, to confront him had also revived a fury which she hadn't been aware to be latent in her. Now, it burned so fiercely in her that it was impossible for her to ignore it anymore. Her hands closed in tight fists, she was glowering at Sandor even as fresh tears welled in her eyes. She didn't know what to do with herself for as much as she was enraged. She wanted to curse him! Wanted to hit him! To bawl and wail as loud as she could!

From his place just in front of her, the man was watching her in stunned silence. "I did," he admitted, his voice slow and as grating as steel against stone. "I raped you all right. How could I deny it? But you were too beautiful to resist. There was no way I did, having you as my charge and under my sole watch for so long."

Sansa gasped, overwhelmed by the disgust his words inspired her. "To hear you speak, it's as if_ I_ was to blame for your actions just as much as you simply for looking the way I do! Do you truly believe so?" she asked disbelievingly. Then, suddenly unable to control her wrath, Sansa exploded and jumped on him, punching at his chest with all the strength she could muster. "_Oh! You brute!_"

Seizing both her wrists, Sandor immobilised her but he said nothing, his eyes even more wide than before. For a moment, Sansa wrestled against his steely grasp, but it was in vain and she soon gave up. "It was not _my_ fault, Sandor," she stated afterwards, tears gathering in her eyes again. Though she was not yelling anymore, her tone was still one of reproach, ire and bitterness. "It never has been!"

"I never said it was," Sandor rasped softly.

"And yet, to hear you speak, you seem to genuinely believe my rape was inevitable! That it could not have been helped! By doing so, it's as if you refused to admit you hurt me of your own free will. You could've spared me this nightmare, Sandor! If you had not been so selfish and short-sighted, you would!"

"Sansa, please. Calm down," the Hound attempted to shush her, however she was too incensed to be quelled.

"No! I won't calm down! You need to _hear_ me, Sandor! You really need to hear me out and put yourself in my place for once! To know what I've been through, thanks to you!" Sansa cried out. Tugging her wrists free from his hands, she recoiled slightly and glared up at him. "Ever since that day you stole my maidenhead, I've tried to forget, to act as if I was over it – to pretend as if it didn't really matter! But it's always been a lie! I've _never_ been over it and still have nightmares about what you did to me!" she went on, her voice quavering and throat closing painfully. "I can still see you as you were in that pool… Oh! You were such a frightening sight - so tall and strong and unmerciful - I never felt so exposed and vulnerable in my life!

"Your eyes, Sandor, they were not those of a man as you approached me but those of a _beast_! It was as if you had lost your soul for a moment," Sansa recalled, the horror of it still so vivid, it brought her pulse to hasten and sweat to bead on the nape of her neck. The rage that had consumed her just instants before was quickly being tainted by the same helpless fear which had gripped her on that fateful day as the Hound went from her guard to her assailant. She wanted to weep but kept on speaking anyway, somehow unable to stop.

"I was so clueless. Though I knew what you wanted, it was all so alien to me… I didn't understand half of what was happening, it was all going far too fast! And there was no way I stopped you, no way at all! You were deaf to my pleas… I had no choice but to yield control over my own body to you," Sansa was crying well and truly now. Her face lowered into her palms, she started whimpering and wobbling from side to side.

"Why? Why did you have to do this to me, Sandor?" she demanded in-between sobs and snuffles, her voice high-pitched as a child's now. "I trusted you, you know. I truly did! When we left King's Landing together, I was sure that you'd protect me… that… that I would be safe from then on…"

Exhaling a long shaky breath, the Hound pulled her against his torso. Sansa let him do it, too distraught and in need of comfort to resist. "Seven Hells. Breathe in, little bird. It's all over now, no need to put yourself in such a state," he rasped, his tone gentle though his voice and body were undeniably strained. His palms were on her shoulder blades and lay there stiffly, as if he wasn't sure what to do with them.

For what seemed like an eternity, Sansa sobbed and wailed against him. She was unable to stop, a little as if she had been possessed, yet eventually, her body grew limp and she ceased crying.

"I'd rather you had not suffered, believe me when I tell you so," Sandor added as everything became quiet again. "Yet even if it was my wish, there's no bloody way I take it back. What's done is done."

"But would you change it if you could? Do you regret your actions at least?" Sansa murmured, sniffling and keeping her face downcast.

He hesitated for a few long seconds and from that, Sansa could tell she wouldn't like his answer even before he spoke. "Sansa… Gods, I know you'd like me to say otherwise… but no, I have no regrets," he started slowly. By the tone he used, it was clear he'd have rather not had to admit to it.

A surge of indignation coursed through Sansa at hearing his words. Straightening her back, she once more struggled against his hold all the while keeping her stare averted, too sickened to meet his gaze.

"I'm not done, Sansa! Seven Hells, calm down and listen to me," the Hound exhorted her, steadying her with strong hands around her elbows.

Sansa quickly quit fighting. It was worthless anyway and she was suddenly so very exhausted. All she still had the strength for was to resume her crying.

"I'd have rather it happened otherwise, that I had not caused you all that pain and hurt you," the Hound added wearily. "Yet I'm not deceiving myself. I know you'd have never wanted of me had I not forced myself on you." With that, he moved a hand under her chin to lift her face and Sansa finally met his gaze. There was a very serious air about him, sombre even, but there was naught but the cold, harsh truth that gleamed in his eyes. "How the fuck could I regret?" he hissed, and now he seemed almost mad that she might have suggested something so absurd. "By taking you as I did, I got us where we are now, and be sure that I wouldn't give you up, even for all the bloody gold in the whole wide buggering world. No, there's no way I can regret this, Sansa, because had things happened differently, you'd never have become mine."

Her face contorting as if in pain, Sansa screwed her eyes shut and began sobbing with even more strength than before. The wind chose that moment to rise again, and though she did not see it, the girl could feel dry, freezing snow as rough as sandpaper brush her cheeks. The Hound shifted against the gust, yet he shielded her from it and held still.

When the worst of the squall had passed, Sansa opened her eyes and breathed in deeply. "What you did to me, Sandor… _it's inexcusable_!"

"I know. But many things are in this world, little bird. Doesn't make them any less true. Doesn't make them disappear either. What's done cannot be undone. That's how life is. In the end, it doesn't matter who did the wrong – everyone's condemned to make do with the consequences of what has come to pass, no bloody exception whatsoever. That it be your fault or not won't change shit." He snorted then, his lips twisting in an ugly sneer. "Take me, for example. I know it for a bloody fact: just look at my buggering face! I've been the one living with these burns all my life, even though they're Gregor's work." He paused then and when he resumed speaking, his gravelly voice was a bit softer. "The outcome of this is not too bad at least. I'll take my responsibilities and take good care of you and the babe. That's the best I can do to atone for my actions at this point. You'll never lack for anything once we're settled in Essos. You can trust me on that. It's a promise."

Her lips quivering, Sansa glanced down and swallowed hard. There had been something very earnest about the Hound's pledge and a part of her wished she could just let go and nod. She knew he had spoken the truth and that once they were in Essos, he would see to all her needs, buy her pretty silk dresses and lemon cake and be a father to their child. Yet, while she didn't doubt he had grown to genuinely care for her as the moons had passed, she still couldn't help but feel that he considered her more like a possession than an actual person. It was obvious in the manner he never informed her of where they were heading to, of how he never consulted her about anything that truly mattered and most of all, by the fact that he couldn't find it in him to truly regret the wrong he had done her.

"You'll want to keep me locked up in some luxury house until the day I die – as you did while we stayed at Maidenpool. That's how you like me –covered with jewellery, beautiful and always available to your will! But I won't ever be free if I stay with you!"

"Women never are, or are you naïve enough to believe otherwise? At least with me, you'll get to raise your firstborn and he'll get to know his brothers and sisters." One of his hands sliding under her cowl, Sandor started stroking her cheek and hair. "And you can be sure you'll always have your husband's utter attention and devotion… and be satisfied in bed. That's more than what most women can ever wish for in this ugly world."

"What about my family, Sandor? I need to see them again!" Sansa interjected, fresh tears pearling in her eyes.

"If you were to return to Winterfell, most likely your brother would marry you off in a year or two to a man living far away from your father's home. And then you wouldn't see your family more than once every five years or so – mayhap even less. What's worth a few visits in a lifetime against your own happiness?"

Her own happiness… that was what he promised. But could she ever be truly happy knowing that she lived with a man who had raped her as a girl and forced her to go along with his every desire? She didn't know what to think. Because no matter how she resented him, she could also not deny that deep down, she simply couldn't conceive parting with him. For now, it was as if he was all she had ever known. Over the last seven moons, Sandor had become her whole universe. She had grown into a woman under his hands, as he made her discover the pleasure of the flesh and, most of all, put a child in her womb. He was right in that the past couldn't be changed. She could never erase the memory of him and his part in her evolution, no more that she could forget the babe she was expecting and be happy without him if she were to return to Winterfell after having given birth. In the end, the Hound would get his way as he always did, for in these circumstances, there was really no other viable option for Sansa but to follow him and be a wife to him even though to his own admission, he did not deserve her.

She was lost in all these thoughts, shaking with the whimpers she could feel rising in her again - when deaf noises were abruptly heard coming from behind them. Both Sandor and she turned over to look at the road where they had come from. It was hard to discern anything, what with the sunbeams being reflected over the white snow everywhere and the faraway distance from which the sound came. They had to squint and shield their eyes, yet after a minute or two, they finally saw what it was. Very far away from them, there were riders approaching. Perhaps five of them but it was hard to be sure, as small as they seemed, there at the other end of the lane.

"Shit!" Sandor cursed under his breath. "Let's go, Sansa! We've lingered here too long already. Let's go!"

As he spoke, he lifted her from the ground and all but threw her over his shoulder to sprint to the horses. Sansa yelped yet no sooner had the sound escaped her lips that the Hound was installing her over her mare. As he jumped over Stranger's saddle, she peered at the road behind them. The riders were approaching quickly. Snow was gathering in the air around them, like a small cloud of white dust.

"We need to ride faster now," the Hound commanded sharply. "Come, little bird! Hurry!"

Sansa did as he bade and followed him, suddenly very frightened. "You… you think these are the men Beth's husband fetched?" she cried out from behind him, her pulse resounding loudly in her ears.

"I've no clue, but I don't care to find out either," he exclaimed, his voice as harsh as the wind that blew in her face. "Best we keep going before they have a chance to meet us."

Sansa nodded, though he couldn't see her. For all she was mad at the Hound, she didn't want him to be met by any of her brother's bannermen. They would kill him, or at least take him prisoner, and that was the last thing she wished.

They both hurried over the snow, him ahead of her, and they did manage to distance themselves from the other riders. Their shapes became smaller over the road behind them, still they always followed.

At one point though, the lane turned into a steep slope and their mounts had to slow down a bit. The wind chose that moment to rise and blow so violently that it made it hard for the horses to move forward at all. Snow was lifted from the ground and it swirled all around them, so thick that they couldn't distinguish anything. All was white, so overwhelmingly white.

When after about a minute of that the view grew clear again, it was too late. There were three men ahead of them, just over the slope, all wearing badges embroidered with House's Manderly sigil over their chest. One of them was an archer and was holding his weapon before him she could see. Her breath caught in her throat. As if the world had slowed down so that each second lasted an eternity, she watched him pull at his bow's cord and then, lose it, the movement fluid and precise. The arrow went straight ahead, splitting the air in two with a soft hiss, until, after a moment that seemed to last forever, its flight was abruptly stopped as it hit Sandor. His stallion halted right away and neighed, reeling from side to side.

Sansa heard a groan and then, only silence. No one moved, not even the men ahead.

She was so confused, didn't know what to do or think, but then the Hound began swaying over his saddle.

"Sandor!" she called.

Without waiting, she jumped from her mare and almost fell down full frontal as she did. It didn't matter. Without missing a beat, she rose from her knees and began to run. On her way, she tripped into the thick snow a few times but managed not to stumble and kept going as fast as she could anyway. As she got nearer, she saw the arrow had hit Sandor right through the chest.

He gazed down at her, the expression on his face surprised, though somewhat sardonic as well. "Gods, I knew it," he said as he met her stare. And then his eyes became wide and he fell heavily onto his back to the snowy floor by Stranger.

"Sandor!" Sansa let out in utter panic. She got to him and kneeled by his side. "Sandor!" she cried out once more.

He was holding the arrow with a hand, feeling it, but as she pushed his fingers away, there was none of the strength she knew so well in them. He let her do it with not an ounce of resistance. Then she saw the blood. The arrow had pierced right through his chain mail shirt, exactly where rust had eaten some of the links away and created a hole.

"Sandor, are you alright?" she asked, her voice high-pitched and trembling.

"The heart, little bird. It got the heart," he breathed softly.

"No," she told him, as if her words could make it otherwise.

He laughed then but ended up coughing, foam coming out the corner of his burned mouth. Sansa stroked at his broad chest, around where the arrow had entered. Blood was permeating the layers of tunic he wore. Thick and red.

"Sandor, no!" she ordered him, tears welling in her eyes.

He laughed again, a very feeble and throaty sound, his eyes finding hers. They were half-closed and feverish, their grey hue shining under the strong and unforgiving afternoon winter light.

"I knew this would end badly. That… that you'd be my death… but I don't mind. It was all worth it. Now, you'll be free of me, Sansa…"

Big tears were rolling down Sansa's cheeks now. Blood was pooling into the snow around him. So very dark against the pure, white snow. There was so much blood…

"Sandor… I'll come with you to Essos… don't die and I'll follow you gladly!" she pleaded even as she cried.

The Hound's large hand slowly rose to her cheek to stroke it weakly. Yet it shortly fell. "Little bird… So beautiful… you were always far too beautiful and kind…"

Those were his last words and after he had spoken them, his eyes glazed over and lips parted faintly.

Sansa knew what had happened. But she didn't accept it. She shook him and even screamed at him to wake up. They needed to flee! What was he doing, lying on the floor like that? Had he already forgotten his promise to protect and care for her and the baby? As she did, the men slowly approached. Still none of them had the nerve to interfere. They left her to her misery. And so as she watched the Hound's lifeblood slowly flow from his body and colour the snow around him, a circle of her brother's bannermen formed around her, watching in grim silence.

And as later on, they all left the place, Sansa sat on her mare and followed absently with red and swollen eyes as the father of her unborn child's huge lifeless body was being pulled over a makeshift sledge by his own stallion. That a man so skilled and powerful as Sandor could ever be defeated had never crossed her mind, not truly. And she still didn't completely believe it might have actually happened. Circling her swollen belly with her arms to hug herself, Sansa thought of the Hound even as his son moved in her womb. She remembered all the time they had spent together, both the good and the bad. But it was all gone. Just as her innocence - and neither would ever come back.


	18. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Over the years that followed afterwards, a new song became increasingly popular all across Westeros. It told the story of a maiden who, in order to return to her faraway home, had no choice but to travel through the whole realm escorted by only a single guard. Where the maiden was compassionate, soft mannered, innocent and strikingly beautiful, her guard was brutal, as uncouth as a beast and beyond hideous, his face having been horrifically burned in his youth. He was amongst the strongest and most fearsome warriors to have ever walked the continent and a taller man than most people had ever seen.

Though most would have trembled at his very sight and recoiled at the gruffness of his manners, the maiden was never anything less than kind and courteous with him, for she didn't have an ounce of nastiness in her and could only see the good in everyone. The guard, having only ever known the cold orders of his masters and the dread and loathing with which he was received everywhere he went, didn't know how to deal with such a delicate and gentle creature as the maiden. And thus only a few weeks into their journey, he who should have protected her became crazy with desire for her and ravished her.

Even after that, the maiden never ceased showing kindness to her guard, her heart being too pure to be spiteful. This proved too much for the man and he soon fell madly in love with her. Yet after a lifetime of being disregarded by all, he had never learned how to love. Instead of treating the maiden with the tenderness she longed for, he was jealous, controlling and possessive and made her his prisoner. Inevitably, the maiden became with child. When he learned of it, the guard decided to steal her away for good and forsake the land of both his forefathers and hers to flee where no one would ever find them.

But there his adventures ended. On his way to the ship that would bring him and the maiden to the other end of the world, he finally got caught by the men of his captive's family. Though he had never been defeated before, neither in the practice yard or at war, the guard met his death that day. By an arrow through the heart he succumbed. Many a one remarked the arrow chose its target wisely- or so the ballad said - for it pierced through what had been the guard's downfall, his heart having not been meant to love.

The last verses of the song related how even as not a soul in the world regretted the guard's demise and all celebrated the maiden's rescue, the maiden herself grieved. For even after all the wrong he had done her, she still could never hate the man who had violated her, pure-hearted as she was.

While the song never mentioned who the maiden and the guard were, everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew, though all refrained from saying so when in Sansa's presence. As she grew older, she often heard it sang at weddings, fairs and tourney. Always, she acted as if the words held no meaning to her. She never sung them along with the others and only maintained the icy composure which had become hers over time.

Yet later as she would return to her quarters, Sansa would weep quietly, unsure whether the bitterness she felt was directed at those who reminded her of the Hound with their cruel ballad, or at he who had given her her firstborn. The song was wrong when it pretended she had a heart too pure to hate, for she did hate the Hound. And yet it was also right, for she had indeed truly grieved him – and still did sometimes, even though she would never deny his murder had been justified.

How could someone hate and miss the same person at once? Sansa wasn't certain, but it would apparently be her curse until the day she died. Because as the years passed and she married and had other children, she never managed to shake away the impression that her feelings were flat and numb after the turmoil she had known with the Hound. To be under his yoke - the object of his lust and obsession - had been like living in a storm, a storm of fear, bliss, shame, anger, passion and despair. And in time, she was forced to accept that her emotions would never reach even half as high a peak as they had throughout those seven moons she and the Hound had spent together, adrift across the realm.

After such an intense experience lived at so young an age, the peaceful existence of a Northern lady married to a kind and even-tempered husband could only appear dreary to Sansa. And thus, she hated the Hound. She hated him for having robbed her of her chance at the simple happiness that had been destined for her. She hated him and, often, she damned him all the way to the Seven Hells where she knew he was, even as she sang their song.

_Their song._ _Her favourite song_.

**THE END**


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